Ten Thousand Words Without a Sound
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: Written for one of 96 Hubbles's challenges. When a greedy colonel gets LeBeau transferred in order to get better dining options, the Frenchman finds himself in more trouble than he expected. From the sidelines, Newkirk watches, wishing he could help.
1. An Unfolding Nightmare

Author's notes: As always, the characters aren't mine, but the story is. This story is being written as a response to the "You can't make an omelet without breaking a few Kommandants" challenge by 96 Hubbles. It was also largely inspired by the Rockapella song "Rock River." The fic takes place a few weeks after the events of Episode 82, "Sticky Wicket Newkirk," and makes several references to that episode.

* * *

The meeting between Colonel Klink and Colonel Mullenberg, the commandant of Stalag 6, had not intended to go so far as to require a dinner, but as the two discussed about the fliers who had escaped from Stalag 6 a few weeks ago, coming up with questions that had no answers, the meeting went for longer than intended.

Realizing that his personal cooking staff would not do well with such short notice, Klink had sent Schultz to Barracks Two to ask Corporal Louis LeBeau to prepare the dinner. The Frenchman refused; he had not been in the best of moods ever since the fiasco with Newkirk and his enemy agent girlfriend. Newkirk had been spending the last few weeks in the cooler, leaving one man less to re-dig the tunnel that they had caved in when they had been forced to cover their tracks. They were lucky that Hochstetter never did find out about them, but it was no picnic getting the tunnel cleared out and operational again.

Due to their narrow escape, their operation was much quieter for the time being. Hochstetter was still ferreting around for answers to his own questions, and between that and Newkirk still being locked up, LeBeau wasn't granting any favors—especially not to Klink.

Klink was not about to take that for an answer, but LeBeau was being more tenacious than ever. Schultz immediately told Colonel Hogan of the situation, who arrived in Klink's office to see the German and the Frenchman glaring daggers at each other. After reminding Klink that the Geneva Convention forbade him from forcing LeBeau to make the meal, Hogan suggested the idea of an incentive. After much coaxing and arguing, Klink agreed to release Newkirk from solitary after dinner, providing that Mullenberg approved of the food.

It had taken LeBeau some time to accept the deal, though he eventually did; he was still feeling slightly betrayed by Newkirk, upset that the RAF Corporal had placed LeBeau and the others in such a dangerous situation. The Frenchman hadn't even spoken to him since he had been sent to the cooler (though he made food for him, he never delivered it to the cooler personally), but he had talked about him often, particularly with Carter. And he did so again tonight, as he was preparing the meal that Carter would help him serve.

"_Colonel_ told him to go to London," LeBeau said, as he seasoned the bouillabaisse. "It was an order. And instead, he returns with that spy!"

"You know, I think it hurts like this because of how much we care about Newkirk," Carter said. "He's our best friend, and I'm sure he feels even worse about this than we do. Louis, you know he'd never want to put us in danger. You know that, right?"

"_Oui_, I know," the Corporal sighed. "To tell you the truth, I am glad he came back. I just wish he had come without that witch!"

"I'm sure he wishes that, too," Carter replied.

"_André_, do you mean to tell me that you are not upset with him for what happened?"

"Well, sure, I _was_," the sergeant admitted. "But what good does staying mad really do us? Everything turned out okay in the end, and you can bet that Newkirk will never do it again. He's learned his lesson, and I forgave him. I think you should, too; you guys have got a great friendship—you're like brothers! Don't throw that away because of this!"

LeBeau managed a small smile. Carter might be naïve at times, but when he spoke from the heart, he spoke with a wisdom beyond his years.

"We're all like brothers, _André_," he said. He sampled the bouillabaisse. "And this is ready; you can serve some of this to them--"

"_Und_ you can serve some of that to me, too!" said Schultz, walking into the kitchen in time to hear LeBeau's last comment. He sat down in his usual chair in the kitchen. "It smells delicious, even from out there!"

"Schultz, we're having a private conversation!" LeBeau chided him; despite that, he gave him some of the bouillabaisse.

"No need to worry; except for when you mentioned the food, I heard nothing—_nothing_!" He placed a spoonful of the bouillabaisse in his mouth and closed his eyes as he savored the flavor. "Ohh, _wunderbar_!"

LeBeau just shook his head as Carter shrugged, taking servings of the stew to the two German colonels.

"Pour us some more wine, Carter," Klink ordered, holding up his wineglass.

"Yes, Sir," the sergeant replied, with a forced smile.

"I've had enough, for the moment," Mullenberg said. He tried the bouillabaisse and blinked in surprise. "Klink, this is excellent! You have excellent cooks on your staff."

"The creator of this meal is not one of my staff," Klink responded, with a smirk. "He is one of my prisoners—a Frenchman, Corporal Louis LeBeau."

"A prisoner, you say?" Mullenberg repeated. A smirk was crossing his face now, and he soon chuckled. "Excellent joke, Klink. Now who is it, really?"

The smile faded from Klink's face. "I just told you; he's one of my prisoners! He's the only one I could get on such short notice!" He turned towards the kitchen door. "LeBeau! Come out here for a moment!"

The Corporal cursed in his own tongue as he exited the kitchen, standing at attention before the two colonels.

"Remarkable," Mullenberg mused. "I must hand it to you, Klink. You have a prisoner working for you like this, and he doesn't even complain about it?"

"Well…" said Klink, with a wave of his hand. He didn't want to admit that he had made a deal with LeBeau. "One must put his foot down and show these men who is in charge, after all." He turned back to LeBeau. "That is all; you may return to the kitchen."

The Corporal did so, without a word. Carter flinched, feeling sorry for him.

Mullenberg, on the other hand, stared back at the bouillabaisse before him. This was the first time he had eaten something so delicious since becoming the commandant of Stalag 6, and they hadn't even progressed to the main course yet. The wheels began to turn in his head.

"Klink," he said, with a small smile. "You must consider lending him to me."

Carter, who had been standing with his back to the colonels, frowned. He did not like the sound of those words one iota. He turned slightly as Klink began to laugh, taking Mullenberg's comment as a joke.

"I'm sure if all of the Colonels in Germany heard about LeBeau, they would be lining up here for dinner," Klink said. "I am a lucky man, Mullenberg; there has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13, so this chef isn't going anywhere."

"Actually, Klink, I was somewhat serious," Mullenberg replied. "Do you remember a few weeks ago, we had arranged a transfer for that British Corporal?"

Klink winced as he recalled how Newkirk had escaped en route to Stalag 6. "I have installed a non-transfer policy of my prisoners since then, Colonel Mullenberg. It has led to a significant reduction in the headaches that come with being a Kommandant; I recommend that you try it, too."

"Klink," the other Colonel replied. "You shouldn't be the only one allowed to eat well on a regular basis. You have a golden goose in your possession; I merely request that you share the wealth."

Before Klink could reply, LeBeau reentered with a small serving tray.

"More bread for you," he said, placing the tray on the table. "The cassoulet will be ready very soon."

"Louis!" Carter said, trying to somehow warn him about Mullenberg. But he found himself unable to deliver his warning as Klink and Mullenberg glanced at him. "I smell something burning!"

"Impossible!" LeBeau said, bolting back towards the kitchen.

Carter moved to follow him, but froze as Mullenberg cleared his throat.

"I think I will have more wine, after all," he said, raising his glass. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the young American. "And stay here; I might need more."

Carter refilled Mullenberg's glass, biting his lip in nervousness.

"Colonel Mullenberg," said Klink, a frown crossing his features. "You were saying something about sharing the wealth? It is highly irregular to transfer prisoners for reasons such as this."

"Which brings me to the case of that British Corporal," said Mullenberg. "All you would need to do is change a few things on those old transfer papers—the name and nationality--"

"I'm afraid I can't quite go along with what you're suggesting," said Klink. "I doubt that General Burkhalter would approve of us playing musical chairs with the prisoners. No, Colonel; I am afraid I must refuse."

"And do you think, Klink, that Burkhalter would approve of Major Hochstetter returning here to search for further evidence of underground activity and means by which those fliers escaped from my stalag to yours?"

"There is no proof of that!" Klink said, glaring at Mullenberg through his monocle. "Major Hochstetter found nothing when he conducted his search here!"

"I have a meeting with the Major tomorrow evening, Klink," the crooked officer replied. "He's bringing back the men among those fliers who did not successfully escape. I could tell him of clues I found during my stay here. That would send him back here—and Burkhalter would send you right to the Eastern Front!"

"But there are no grounds for such accusations!" Klink exclaimed, going pale. "You wouldn't do such a thing!"

"I wouldn't… assuming that I had a nice, French meal to serve the Major tomorrow evening," Mullenberg said, smirking again at Klink's disdainful expression. "Oh, don't look at me that way, Klink; it would only be a temporary transfer—just for a few weeks." He was lying through his teeth; he had no intention of letting LeBeau go when he could eat this well day in and day out.

"Colonel Klink!" said Carter. "What about the next time General Burkhalter comes along? You don't want him eating anything other than LeBeau's cooking--"

"Silence!" Mullenberg ordered Carter. "You will speak only when you are spoken to, and you will not interrupt a private conversation between two Colonels!" He turned back to Klink. "See to it that this man is punished for his insolence!"

"Yes, yes; I'll see to it," Klink promised, meekly. "And I suppose that a small, two-week transfer won't bring any lasting harm; I'll draw up the papers tonight. The Frenchman can go to Stalag 6 with you when you leave in the morning."

Carter inwardly groaned. Even _he_ could tell that LeBeau would not be returned to them. As he glanced at the kitchen door in despair, he noticed that the door closed slightly. He winced as he realized that LeBeau had heard most of the conversation.

"Transferred…" the Corporal whispered. Furious, he threw the metal lid of one of the pieces of cookware across the room, now cursing loudly.

"Please, LeBeau!" Schultz pleaded. "I know you are upset, but you mustn't act like this!"

"Upset!? I would rather be taken by demons!" He glared at the door. "I will not go; I will escape tonight!"

Schultz winced at the dreaded word. "I will pretend that I did not hear that."

"And I will go home and pretend that this cursed war never happened," LeBeau shot back. He turned off the stove. "That cassoulet is almost done; you can give it to them. There is no dessert; this kitchen is closed!"

"Oh, LeBeau," Schultz said, trying to calm the Frenchman down as he stormed out of the kitchen.

"Nice to see you again, Corporal," said Mullenberg, highly amused by the short man's temper. "I take it that you know of the transfer, which saves all of us time. You can do me a favor by gathering your things tonight and preparing for an early start tomorrow."

"Ah, _oui_?" LeBeau asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You can do me a favor, too: drop dead--"

Schultz covered the Corporal's mouth. "What he really means is to ask you to drop him off in the market in the morning, Kommandant. He would be dead set against anything other than fresh ingredients for your dinner tomorrow!"

LeBeau's eyes moved to glare daggers at Schultz.

"Schultz, take him and Carter back to the barracks," said Klink. "And you may release the prisoner in the cooler." He was no fool; there would be an ever greater quantity of unrest in the camp that night if he did not keep his word about releasing Newkirk.

"At once, Kommandant," the big man said, pulling LeBeau along. He sighed with relief once they were outside, and let him go. "You should not talk to Colonel Mullenberg like that; he is not like Colonel Klink. Oh, the things I have heard about this Colonel Mullenberg!" He shuddered.

"Schultz, this isn't the time," said Carter. He turned to his French friend. "Don't you worry about a thing, Louis. Colonel Hogan will find a way to get you out of this."

"It had better involve me going back to Paris," LeBeau vowed. "I am done with being a prisoner, and I am done with this war!"

Schultz flinched again at the talk of escape as he led them to the cooler. "_Raus_, Newkirk!" he called, unlocking the cell door. "You're going back to the barracks!"

"Blimey, it 'asn't even been the full thirty days yet," Newkirk murmured, though he certainly wasn't about to complain. He stretched his arms as he stepped out of solitary and as Schultz lead them back to Barracks Two. "Time off for good behavior, is it?"

"Not at all, _Pierre_," LeBeau replied, bitterly, as he headed inside. "I owe my soul to Colonel Mullenberg of Stalag 6—a small price to pay for getting you out of the cooler, no?"

Newkirk blinked, taking note of how cold LeBeau's tone was. "You want to give me a moment to work that out?"

His puzzled expression turned to one of concern as LeBeau cursed at him and retreated to his bunk without another word. Newkirk suspected that LeBeau was still upset with what had happened with that girl, Gretel. That would explain why the Frenchman hadn't even come by to say hello. Newkirk sighed to himself; he had apologized before, but it looked as though that he would have to give a more heartfelt apology to LeBeau.

"Louis, we need to talk," he said.

"_Oui_, we can talk while I am packing," the Frenchman spat, gathering his few worldly possessions together.

"Right; we'll talk while…" Newkirk trailed off as the words sunk in. Packing? Stalag 6? "What's going on 'ere!?"

"Colonel Klink made a deal with us," said Carter. "He wanted Louis to make a dinner for him and Colonel Mullenberg, and if Mullenberg liked it, he'd let you out of the cooler early." He swallowed nervously, not sure how to break the news. "Mullenberg liked it a little too much. He forced Klink into transferring Louis; he's going to Stalag 6 in the morning when Mullenberg leaves."

"What!? 'E can't do that!" the Englishman fumed, as nearby bunkmates exchanged shocked glances. "Maybe there's something I can do--"

"He has done it!" LeBeau fumed. "And please, don't try to do anything; it's your fault that I'm going in the first place! You were in the cooler because of that precious Gretel of yours! I made one meal to get you out—and that was the only reason why I agreed to make it! But at least you are out; take comfort in that thought, _mon ami_." He had spat the last two words out with enough venom to send a spitting cobra fleeing for cover.

"Louis…!" Carter gasped, not even sure how to respond.

And Newkirk, whose silver tongue had talked his way out of many a confrontation before, was now stricken speechless. LeBeau had returned to his packing, not even looking the Englishman in the eye.

_You're right, Louis_, Newkirk said, silently. The familiar feelings of guilt and remorse, which had been clawing at him ever since he had found out the truth about Gretel, now began to tear at his spirit again. _I got you into this mess. And if it's the last thing I ever do, I swear I'll get you out of it_.


	2. Memories Fade to Black and White

Down in the subterranean radio room, Colonel Hogan paced the chamber.

"Can you ask London to repeat that, Kinch?" he asked.

"Papa Bear calling Mama Bear," the radioman said. "Please repeat previous message."

"Mama Bear to Papa Bear," the voice over the line responded. "Requesting Papa Bear to help retrieve the bowls of porridge returned to Stalag 6."

"I was afraid of that," the Colonel murmured. The captured fliers knew too much about their operation to remain in Stalag 6, especially if Hochstetter still had plans to pump information from them. It was the Major's goal to gather enough evidence against them, and if the fliers hadn't talked yet, Hochstetter wasn't going to leave them until they spilled the beans.

"It can't be done, Colonel," said Baker, with a shake of his head. "They're asking too much from us; how can we possibly free those men?"

Hogan was about to admit that he wasn't so sure about it himself, but loud shouts from up in the barracks distracted him.

"LeBeau?" he asked, recognizing the accent. "He's supposed to be with Klink; what's he doing back here?" He moved towards the ladder.

"Colonel, what do I tell London?" Kinch asked.

"Tell them to stand by for my answer," Hogan said. He rapped his fist against the trapdoor to activate it. The bottom bunk rose as the trapdoor opened, and LeBeau, who had been getting his things from the top bunk, shot a dark look at the Colonel.

"LeBeau, what's going on?" Hogan asked. A quick look around the barracks revealed the subdued Newkirk and the worried Carter. "You three shouldn't be here right now."

"Not to worry, _mon Colonel_," said LeBeau, slightly cold towards Hogan, also; after all, the cook-the-dinner-to-release-Newkirk plan had been his. "Come tomorrow morning, I won't be here."

"Our plan worked _too_ well; Mullenberg is taking LeBeau with him to Stalag 6 tomorrow," said Carter.

"Can't you do anything, Sir?" Newkirk asked, quietly. While he was trying not to let more than a hint of a plea in his voice, his worried eyes spoke volumes. "It should be me going, not 'im…"

Ah, _bon_; you want to take my place?" LeBeau snapped back. "Please, feel free to do so!"

"Hold on just a second," said Hogan, raising his hand for quiet. He was hardly daring to believe how fortuitous this was. He crossed back to the tunnel entrance. "Kinch? Tell London that we accept the mission!"

"What mission?" LeBeau asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "_Colonel_, please tell me this is some way to get me to London or Paris."

"It's going to be a way to get you—and those recaptured fliers—on the route to safety," Hogan said. "LeBeau, I need you to be our inside man in Stalag 6."

"_Non_!" the Frenchman exclaimed. "_Non_; I am escaping tonight!"

"Colonel, you can't do this to 'im!" Newkirk said, stepping forward. "Louis doesn't deserve to go through that!"

LeBeau was too upset to tell Newkirk that he didn't need the Englishman to stand up for him.

"He's right," said Carter, stunned by Hogan's announcement. "Stalag 6 isn't like Stalag 13; it's going to be far more dangerous to try and arrange an escape there!"

"London wants those recaptured fliers to be out of that place as soon as humanly possible," Hogan countered. "They know too much, and it's a miracle if they haven't said too much already. Do I have to remind you of what's going to happen if Hochstetter gets even one juicy piece of evidence from them? The fat lady starts singing our swan song!"

"Oh, I see," said LeBeau, darkly. "Mullenberg taking me there fits into your plan, so here I go, being the sacrificial lamb!?"

Hogan sighed. "LeBeau, I promise you, we will get you out of there, along with those fliers. Once you're out, you can come back to Stalag 13, and I'll work something out with Klink to revoke that transfer. But if you'd prefer it, you can escape; you can hide in London for as long as you have to, and then you can return to Paris."

LeBeau blinked. The prospect of going home and seeing his family again—after not being able to see them for years—was utterly tantalizing to him. He did not want to go to Stalag 6, but Hogan was issuing an order, along with a pass home as compensation.

"I will accept, _Colonel_," he said at last. "I will go home after this mission is complete."

"Go 'ome!?" Newkirk repeated. "Oh, that's nice! You're going to just leave--?"

"You, of all people, have no right to stop me!" LeBeau countered.

"I know that!" Newkirk shot back. "But I just thought--"

"Alright, you two," said Hogan, breaking up the impending fight. He had known that LeBeau had been upset with Newkirk, but he hadn't realized that it had gone this far.

"Guys, please," said Carter, looking from one to the other. "Louis, deep down, you know why we don't want you to go; it's the same reason why you wanted to stop me from going when I wanted to see Mary Jane. And we know we can't stop you, so we won't even try. But I don't think that you should leave like this—with you and Peter so mad at each other!"

"I'm not mad, Andrew," Newkirk sighed, sitting down on his bunk. "Louis was right about me being the reason 'e as to go to that place. 'E's got a right to be mad." He glanced at the furious Frenchman. "I know it's too little, too late, but… I'm sorry, Louis. You know I'd never want to lose a mate, but I've done it. And I've got no one but meself to blame for it."

He said no more, but he did not want to admit that LeBeau's decision to leave Germany did hurt. And Newkirk felt guilty once again for thinking like that; he couldn't blame LeBeau. After all, the both of them had been prisoners of war the longest. Who wouldn't want to go home?.

Kinch and Baker now came aboveground, inquiring as to what was going on. As Carter softly began to explain, LeBeau stared silently at Newkirk, his expression unreadable. The righteous anger was beginning to fade. Newkirk wasn't his usual, smart-aleck self; his words had been humble and sincere. LeBeau had to admit to himself that he had never seen Newkirk so subdued before.

"Well," he muttered at last. "I suppose I should thank you for giving me an eventual chance to go home, even if I have to put up with Stalag 6 first."

Carter sighed, hoping that this was a sign that they were going to patch things up before LeBeau left.

Newkirk gave a wan smile, but didn't say anything. In one way, it was all so surreal; it wasn't going to sink in until LeBeau actually left them, he realized.

"It's ironic," he said, after a little while. "There would've been a time that I'd have been chuffed to bits if I'd 'eard you were going."

LeBeau just grunted in response. He still was upset with Newkirk, but he was finding it more and more difficult to stay mad.

"And now you're actually going," Newkirk went on. "And 'ere I am, trying to…" He trailed off, not even sure of his words anymore. _Nice going, Louis; you've gotten me as sentimental as some ruddy soap opera character_.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was going to miss his unlikely friend. And if anyone had told him years ago that he would have been feeling this way, the Englishman would have found it impossible to believe. His first meeting with Louis LeBeau was one that neither of them would soon forget.

* * *

_With every ounce of his boisterousness in tow, Newkirk's arrival in Stalag 13 in 1940 had come with the force of a whirlwind. He had attempted to launch a series of unsuccessful escapes that ultimately led to him spending most of his time alone in the cooler. It had become so much of a routine, the guards had started to jokingly refer to the cooler as Newkirk's default bunk._

_On one such night in the cooler, Newkirk had woken up from his sleep upon hearing angry shouts in German and French. Almost lazily, he turned to see Schultz and Langenscheidt dragging in a short-statured Frenchman, who was angrily cursing them. The two Germans seemed quite glad that they could not understand a word of the Frenchman's ranting, and they had quickly retreated as the new prisoner continued to hurl insults at them without stopping as he glared at them from within Newkirk's cell._

"_You know you're going to have to breathe at some point, right?" Newkirk asked, smirking._

_The Frenchman then proceeded to give him a fiery glare—the first of many that he would give the Englishman over the years—and had then continued his cursing—at Newkirk._

"_Now 'ang on a minute!" Newkirk replied, getting to his feet. He may not have known much French, but he knew enough to know that he had been insulted. "I'm not going to stand for this!" The Englishman gritted his teeth in frustration as the replies he received were still in French. _

Oh, charming, _he thought._ How do I counter what I can't even understand!?

_Growing more and more frustrated as the shorter man ranted on, Newkirk finally reached his breaking point._

"_Oh, shut up!" he bellowed, shoving the Frenchman aside with his arm. "Whoever said that French is the language of love needs to 'ave 'is 'ead examined!"_

"_French is a language that requires eloquence and elegance to understand!" the shorter man countered. "You can forget about trying to understand it!"_

"_Ye gads, 'e _can_ talk English!" Newkirk responded, sarcastically. "Right; do you understand the words 'sit down and shut up'?"_

"_You, apparently, do not," the other countered._

_This had started the bilingual argument again, prompting Schultz to come back to the cell._

"_Please," he said, one step short of going on his knees before them. "I have had a long day. Have mercy on me. Stop this fighting; it's not nice. Maybe you will get along better if you are introduced. Corporal Newkirk, meet Corporal Louis LeBeau, the newest prisoner at Stalag 13. Corporal LeBeau, meet Corporal Peter Newkirk, our camp's troublemaker." The big man let out a sigh. "There. No more fighting, _verstehen_?"_

_Both Corporals merely muttered in response. Satisfied, Schultz turned to leave, but a pained expression soon appeared on his face; the argument had picked up again the moment his back had turned._

"_I hear nothing…" he moaned, as he retreated. "I see nothing—_nothing_!"_

"_You're as big a charmer as 'e is, Louis!" Newkirk said, indicating Schultz._

"_Well, I'm glad that we have more charm than you, _Pierre_!" LeBeau countered._

"_It's _Peter_."_

"_I shall call you whatever I wish!"_

"_Is that so!?" Newkirk fumed. _

_Having enough of the verbal spats, he swung his fists at the Frenchman. LeBeau yelped in surprise and dodged, swinging his fists back at him. The noise of the brawl should have brought Schultz running in to break it up, but the exhausted sergeant had placed earmuffs on to battle the bitter cold and was oblivious to the fight, slowly falling asleep on his feet._

_Newkirk soon had LeBeau backed into a corner of the cell, but the Frenchman had refused to give up that easily. His fist connected with Newkirk's nose. Covering his nose, Newkirk struck back with a blind punch that hit LeBeau's jaw. _

_The Englishman staggered back, removing his hand from his nose and cursing as he saw the blood on his hand. As he reached into his pocket for a handkerchief to treat the nosebleed, he was vaguely aware of a weak moan from LeBeau. __When Newkirk looked up, he was stunned to see LeBeau slumped against the cell wall, unconscious._

Blimey, I didn't think I hit him that hard…

_He checked up on the Frenchman, making sure that he was alright. Even if LeBeau had been fighting with him moments ago, Newkirk had enough concern to do so; after all, they were on the same side, when it came down to it._

_Newkirk could not have known, however, that it hadn't been the blow to his jaw that had rendered the Frenchman unconscious. It had been the sight of the blood._

* * *

"_Pierre_?"

The Frenchman's voice brought Newkirk back to the present. The Englishman swallowed back the lump that was forming in his throat. Their first meeting had started with a fight; he did not want what was likely to be their last bit of time together (for a long time, anyway) to end the same way.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying to work out what he was going to say.

LeBeau's expression still seemed to be on the cold side, but it was hard not to be upset. Still, Carter was right; if he was going to say goodbye to Newkirk the next day, it may as well be as a friend.

"I accept your apology, _Pierre_."

Newkirk nodded, but the weight was not gone from his shoulders. It did not change the fact that this fiasco was his fault; LeBeau would still have to endure whatever Mullenberg put him through. The only comfort was that they would somehow eventually get LeBeau to Paris. And Newkirk would see to it that he helped him get there; it was the very least he could do.

Carter looked even more relieved, managing a sad smile as Kinch and Baker spoke with LeBeau. LeBeau and Newkirk's friendship would survive, he hoped. There was a chance that his time in Stalag 6 would put LeBeau in a bad mood again, but Carter wanted to believe that it wouldn't be enough to permanently turn LeBeau against Newkirk.

_He's just going to be cooking, right? It's nothing our Louis can't handle_, Carter said to himself. _He'll be okay_.

Hogan, on the other hand, was having his doubts about this. But as an officer, he knew that he couldn't afford to second-guess himself now that the decision had been made. He had given his word to LeBeau that they would get him out somehow; he could not make any error that would cause him to become a liar—not with the Corporal's life at stake.

The Colonel's eyes glanced around the barracks, pausing on each of his men. There was LeBeau, his face slightly pale, but determined. There were Kinch and Baker, preparing to say what was on their minds before moving on to the first of many goodbyes. There was Carter, whose expression was a fixed look of worry and hope. And then there was Newkirk. Newkirk's eyes met the Colonel's for a moment before the younger man looked away. But Hogan had seen the look of uncharacteristic helplessness in the Englishman's eyes.

The Colonel sighed. It was going to be a long night for all of them.


	3. Have a Little Faith

Author's note: I reference Episode 12 ("The Scientist") in this chapter. Also, the mention in the end about Newkirk's mother is debatable, given the fact that Newkirk has contradicted himself in another episode, but I'm going with what he said in Episode 55 ("Everyone Has a Brother-in-Law") concerning her. Also, I own the OC in this chapter, Major Vulsor. Those of you who have read my fics in other fandoms might be familiar with his family members…

* * *

Schultz knew that the men of Barracks Two would not be sleeping that night, but he did not say a word about it. Hogan and his men were an incredibly close-knit group of surrogate brothers; he had seen how they had looked when they thought that Newkirk would be leaving them not too long ago. And now it was LeBeau's turn.

He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the little Frenchman in Stalag 6. Mullenberg was not known for niceties; those escaped fliers had been driven to break out. Schultz had never even wanted to send Newkirk to Mullenberg; the young RAF corporal had been lucky to escape that fate, even if it had been at Schultz's expense. The big man would not soon forget how Newkirk had pulled a gun on him. But after what had happened with the Englishman, Klink would order that LeBeau be searched for a weapon before he left with Mullenberg. There was no way out for him… at least, no way out that Schultz could see. Dare he hope that Hogan had a way to get LeBeau out?

His patrol took him closer to Barracks Two, and he strained to catch some words of whatever they were saying. They weren't discussing escape plans, Schultz realized. They were reminiscing about old times. And if Schultz hadn't heard the accent, he would have sworn that the quiet, powerless voice he heard could not possibly have been the normally snarky Corporal Newkirk. That, more than anything else, confirmed that LeBeau would be leaving for good.

Schultz soon found eavesdropping to be too depressing; Hogan and his men would talk for a little bit, and then lapse into long periods of silence. He continued on his rounds as the broken conversations in Barracks Two continued until the hours of the morning.

When morning came, Mullenberg's aide began to bring things to his staff car; LeBeau would be leaving soon. The other Heroes were not about to let him go completely defenseless to Stalag 6, of course. Though a weapon was out of the question, Newkirk had cleverly sewn a set of sleeping pills beneath the collar of the Frenchman's shirt. They were to be used only as a last resort, according to Hogan's instructions, to be slipped to Mullenberg on the night of the escape from Stalag 6. But unbeknownst to Hogan and LeBeau, Newkirk had included a couple of extra pills "just in case." The Englishman hadn't intended for LeBeau to slip them to Mullenberg before the appointed time, however; he was thinking about LeBeau being overworked, and being unable to find relief as he was driven to exhaustion. The extra pills would serve as a ticket to a dreamless sleep for the Frenchman to find a temporary escape from his troubles, if that was what he required.

Newkirk did not divulge this information as they headed outside of the barracks. LeBeau would find out soon enough, but he expected that Hogan would be more than a little miffed if he happened to hear about it. Not wanting to incur the Colonel's wrath for going against orders the second time that month, he said nothing.

"LeBeau, I need to commend you for going through with this," Hogan said.

"It is as you said, _mon Colonel_; we have no choice," LeBeau replied. There was a quiver in his voice, as though he was holding back a great load of emotions.

_Too true_, Hogan thought. "Don't draw any unnecessary attention to yourself while you're there; I suggest that you toe the line for the first couple of days. And if Hochstetter comes poking around, stay out of sight."

But in response to Hogan's words, both LeBeau and Carter paled.

"Hochstetter's having dinner with Mullenberg tonight," the young Sergeant said. "I heard him mention it to Klink last night!"

"_Oui_; I was so upset at the transfer, I didn't recall," LeBeau said, having overheard the conversation when he had been listening from the kitchen.

Hogan shut his eyes, trying to think of what to do as Newkirk audibly cursed.

"There's no way we can change our plans now," said the Colonel. "LeBeau, you can't let Hochstetter see you; request one of the other prisoners to help you serve to food."

"_Oui, Colonel_."

"I can't believe this!" Newkirk fumed. "That's all that you can offer him!? There's still time for 'im to escape through the emergency tunnel!"

"_Pierre_, stop," said LeBeau. "_Colonel_ has given an order, and I shall follow it." He stopped himself from saying that if only Newkirk had listened to Hogan, too, he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. But the last thing Newkirk needed was more salt in the wound.

"Corporal!" Mullenberg shouted as he crossed to his staff car. "_Herkommen_! _Schnell_!"

LeBeau glared silently at Mullenberg in response, but then turned to his friends one last time. His heart twisted; he did not want to have to say goodbye to them, however much Paris beckoned to him after this mission was over! And yet, he knew he could not resist the sweet sound of France calling him home.

"_Au revoir, mes amis_," he said, softly. "I left the last few bottles of wine for you."

"Ta," Newkirk said, smiling through his sorrow. "We'll drink to you tonight, Louis. Good luck, little mate."

"Take care of yourself out there," said Baker.

Carter was about to say something when Mullenberg's aide strode over, seized LeBeau by the arm, and began to force him towards the staff car. The Frenchman let out a yelp as he glanced back at his friends again, his eyes transmitting the remainder of the unspoken words of his goodbyes.

"_No_!" Newkirk fumed, moving to charge at the aide.

"Newkirk!" Hogan said, sternly, as he and Kinch held the Englishman back.

There was nothing that they could do as LeBeau was forced into the staff car, only moments before it roared away. The remaining Heroes watched until the car turned at a bend in the road and disappeared from view.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hogan could see Schultz holding his red handkerchief to his face, but the Colonel's concern was for the Englishman. The RAF Corporal suppressed a shudder as he bowed his head slightly.

"Oh, Cor," he said, in a voice barely audible. "What 'ave I done?"

* * *

The long ride to Stalag 6 was one that LeBeau spent deep in thought. Memories and thoughts of his friends intertwined with prayers as the scenery flew by. When the staff car finally pulled through the gates and slowed to a stop, Mullenberg ushered LeBeau inside to his office, briefly speaking to his Sergeant of the Guard to send for the senior POW officer.

"You will find, Corporal, that Stalag 6 is nothing like Stalag 13," Mullenberg warned. "You will be put to work to prepare meals and will spend the rest of the time with the prisoners in your assigned barracks."

"I assume that I'm getting some sort of compensation for my work," LeBeau countered. "It's against the Geneva Convention for you to order--"

"And there's another thing about Stalag 6," Mullenberg said, cutting him off. "Prisoners do not question or protest against my decisions. Another outburst such as that, Corporal, and you will be in the cooler."

LeBeau bit his lip. That might be what he needed to make contact with those fliers; they would be, most likely, in the cooler after their failed escape attempt. But now wasn't the time; he was still under Hogan's orders, and would toe the line as Hogan had instructed.

The door opened as a new man entered in an American major's uniform; the tall man's white-blond hair was visible from beneath his hat as he saluted Mullenberg.

"Corporal, this is Major Adrian Vulsor, our senior POW officer," said Mullenberg. "Major, this is Corporal Louis LeBeau, our new transferee from Stalag 13."

LeBeau saluted the Major out of courtesy, but a part of his mind was still on the name. The name of Vulsor sounded oddly familiar to him; he hadn't heard the name recently, but thought that the name had been mentioned by someone in his family. He could not recall the reason why; the name must have come up in passing. If he was related to a family friend, it would at least give LeBeau someone to talk to during his stay here, which he hoped would not have to be too long.

Vulsor, on the other hand, showed absolutely no sign of recognition as he returned the salute. "I'm sure you know the usual protocol, Corporal," he said. "Name, rank, and serial number are all that you owe them."

"That, and his services in the kitchen," Mullenberg said. "He will be staying with your men unless he is preparing a meal for me. In fact, take him to the barracks to keep his belongings, and then send him back here immediately."

Vulsor nodded, saluting again as they were dismissed.

"You're a chef, Corporal?" he asked, as he led the way to the barracks.

"_Oui_, Major," he said. "When the war is over, I hope to open my own restaurant."

"I am a chemist and entomologist," Vulsor replied. "It's a family trade."

"A chemist?" LeBeau repeated. A wan smile crossed his face. "I know an excellent concoction for an emulsion that doubles as a cure for nasal congestion." Oh, what a crazy misadventure that had been—impersonating a French scientist, with Newkirk as his assistant, getting steadily and steadily more drunk off of wine! LeBeau couldn't help but smile at the memories, but the smile faded as he realized that he would no longer be a part of such capers anymore. Nor would he be able to tease Newkirk, as he had done during that case, making a wry comment about the Englishman's inevitable hangover.

LeBeau pulled himself back to the present as Vulsor spoke again.

"I was not developing those sorts of mixtures," the man said, though he was amused by the Corporal. "The entomology was closely related to the chemistry; I was continuing my mother's work of developing anti-venoms and other serums from spider venom. Have you ever milked a venomous spider, Corporal?" He spoke of it with the same amount of passion as he would have if he had been talking about kissing a woman under the moonlight.

"_Non_, Major," LeBeau said, with a shudder, as they went inside the barracks. _I'd probably faint first_.

LeBeau ignored the numerous sets of eyes studying him as he entered. He placed his few belongings on the bunk that Vulsor indicated, took his leave of him, and headed back to report to Mullenberg. He knew very well that Vulsor and the men were going to root through his things to make sure that he was not a spy; it was what he and his friends had done on numerous occasions to new prisoners in Stalag 13. Although it annoyed him that people were going to be looking through some of the personal things he carried, he knew that those men didn't have a choice.

The Sergeant of the Guard escorted him to see Mullenberg again.

"Ah, Corporal," said the Colonel. "Here are the menus for lunch and dinner. I realize that this is all on such short notice, but I am confident that you will be able to impress me and Major Hochstetter tonight." His eyes narrowed. "And there will be a guard posted outside the kitchen windows, should you get any ideas of an escape attempt. Furthermore, you will be tasting the completed food in front of me or one of my guards."

"With all due respect, _Colonel_," LeBeau said, though not intending any respect at all. "No one has ever suffered from my cooking. _Colonel_ Klink has never had any complaints."

He had never intended to put the sleeping pills in the food anyway; he would have slipped them into the drinks. LeBeau still decided, however, that it was expected for him to be affronted by Mullenberg's accusations.

"I am not a fool as Klink is," Mullenberg said.

_Of course; you are an even bigger one_, LeBeau thought. He bit back a smirk; it was a quip that Newkirk would have come up with.

"Klink may be willing to trust you, but I am not. I know that he has a fat fool of a sergeant to taste your food," Mullenberg continued. "And with Stalag 6 being so different from Stalag 13, your methods are likely to change, as well. I've had my suspicions about why Stalag 13 has never had any escapes, and when I heard that the men who escaped from me were heading there, my suspicions increased. You don't _want_ anything to happen to Klink, for his stupidity allows you to get away with anything. What do you say to that?"

"Louis LeBeau, Corporal, serial number H124--"

"Silence!" Mullenberg snarled. "Get to the kitchen and start working!"

LeBeau was prodded along by the Sergeant of the Guard, but was fighting to hide the satisfied look on his face.

* * *

"Carter, what have you done to those poor vegetables?" Hogan asked, as the scent of burned food filled the entire area of Barracks Two.

"Well, I was trying to make a ratatouille like Louis does, but it… didn't quite work out," the young Sergeant said, presenting the results of his failed cooking attempt. "I think lunch is going to be a bit delayed, Sir."

Hogan sighed, looking around the quiet barracks. No one was making any snide comments about Carter's cooking skills—or lack thereof. Not even Newkirk was saying anything, and it was only after a double-take that Hogan realized that Newkirk wasn't even present.

"He's down in the tunnels," Kinch said, as though reading Hogan's thoughts.

Hogan gave a nod; Newkirk wasn't going to stop beating himself up about this for a long time. And the Colonel couldn't even say that it wasn't his fault. Hogan wasn't sure what to say to the Englishman, but he blinked in surprise as the bunk bed opening rose, admitting Newkirk back to the barracks. His face looked a little red; Hogan suspected that he had helped himself to one of the wine bottles that LeBeau had told them about.

"Cor Blimey, what is that!?" Newkirk blurted out, getting a whiff of the overdone ratatouille.

"Lunch?" Carter offered, holding out the cooking attempt. "It didn't turn out the way Louis would've done it, but…"

To his astonishment, Newkirk gave a wan smile instead of his usual sneer and insult.

"Maybe you'll get it next time, Andrew," he said, closing the trapdoor after him.

He closed it just in time; Schultz came walking in a moment later.

"Carter," he said. "You know that cooking in the barracks is _verboten_!"

"Gee, you never mentioned that when Louis was cooking in here," the sergeant replied.

"That's because he wasn't cooking; he was bringing a masterpiece to life!" Schultz said, dreaming of apple strudel.

"Oh, don't worry, Schultz; this isn't cooking, either. Look." Carter held out the inedible food to him, causing the big man to wince at the sight of it.

"Bury that before Kommandant Klink finds out about it," Schultz said. "_Und_ bury it deep!" He sighed, looking around the barracks.

"You miss him, too, eh, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, softly. He quietly hiccupped once, confirming what Hogan had predicted about the wine.

"_Ja_," the big man replied. "But you didn't hear it from me." He cast one more disdainful look around the barracks before exiting.

"Men, I've had enough of this," said Hogan, looking around. "Yes, we've lost one member of our team, but he's going to be carrying on the brunt of the mission, and we have to help him. LeBeau wouldn't want us to stop the operation because of him."

"Would this involve impersonating some officers and making contact with 'im in Stalag 6?" Newkirk asked, suddenly becoming more alert.

"No," said Hogan, with a shake of his head. "It's too risky for us to try something like that; I have a feeling that Mullenberg might even be expecting it. Based on what Carter said about his conversation with Klink last night, he knows something's up. We can't run the risk of him recognizing one of us, and that goes double if Hochstetter is going to be with him. If anyone is going to contact LeBeau, it'll have to be someone in the Underground."

"But--!"

"Newkirk, that's my final word on the matter. All it takes is wrong move, and a bad situation can turn worse—for us, _and_ for LeBeau."

Newkirk backed down from the argument without any further word on the matter, barely listening as Hogan continued attempting to raise the morale of the others. The Englishman already wasn't able to forgive himself; the very thought of becoming responsible for LeBeau's death was enough to silence his stubborn side.

Newkirk wasn't a praying man; it had been difficult for a cynic like him to be spiritual. But now he was attempting to appeal to a higher power. It didn't bode well that the last time he had done so was for his dead mother; it had all been for naught.

"Peter?"

Newkirk looked up to see Carter looking at him. Even concerned, the young sergeant was managing a smile. Newkirk didn't know how he could do it.

"Louis will be alright," Carter said.

Newkirk responded with a nod, even if he wasn't so sure of it.

_I envy you, Andrew_, he thought. _It must be nice to have faith. I just hope your faith isn't betrayed_.


	4. Leave This World a While

_Author's note: I reference Episode 42 and 43 ("A Tiger Hunt in Paris" parts I and II) in this chapter, and Private Garlotti was a one-time character from Episode 22 ("The Pizza Parlor"). I also reference another in-progress fic for a different fandom; no knowledge of that fic or fandom is required to enjoy this one._

* * *

The lunch that was presented to Mullenberg was met with his satisfaction. The Colonel was surprised; he had expected some sort of resistance from the Frenchman. Either he had the Frenchman cowed, which he doubted, or the Corporal was planning something else for another time. It was likely the latter; that was how the prisoners of Stalag 13 had Klink wrapped around their fingers. The fact that LeBeau wasn't acting suspiciously was suspicious in and of itself.

Major Vulsor arrived in the kitchen later that evening to speak to LeBeau just as the chef in the middle of preparing the dinner. As tempting as it would be to serve Hochstetter a meal that would earn a "Bah!" from him, the Corporal knew that there was too much at stake to let his emotions guide him. He was putting the final touches on the meal when Vulsor found him.

"You have a lot on your mind," he observed, noticing the chef's pensive expression.

"I was just wondering what everyone in Stalag 13 is eating now," LeBeau replied. He looked back at the American major. "I assume that your search of my possessions yielded nothing."

Vulsor glanced at him, amused. He shouldn't have been too surprised that the Corporal knew the unwritten POW protocol, especially if what he had heard about Stalag 13 was true.

"There was nothing to suggest that you are working with the Germans," Vulsor admitted. "But I was surprised to see that you had a letter from the late Viscount de Chagny."

"He was family," LeBeau explained, as he began to chop up some herbs. He didn't feel like going into specifics, so he did not elaborate. "You have heard of him?"

"He was responsible for my mother being sentenced to life imprisonment."

LeBeau froze, his hand with the herbs now stationary over the stew pot. His mouth opened, trying to come up with something to say.

"Relax, Corporal; I don't blame _you_," Vulsor said, sensing the Frenchman's thoughts. "My mother was initially performing her research for good. After anti-venom and pharmaceutical serums became too dull for her, she started a series of undocumented experiments developing other sorts of serums—serums that were deemed unethical, and perhaps dangerous." He shook his head. "When I said that I was carrying on her research, I meant the research for the anti-venoms. I don't condone her illegal practices."

"I must admit, I am surprised that you do not begrudge me, but I am highly grateful," LeBeau replied. Now he knew why he had heard the name of Vulsor in passing. All the same, he wasn't sure if he could trust the major now; this could be just an act.

"I suppose that I am required, by family pride, to consider you as an enemy," Vulsor sighed. "But we are both contending with another enemy—the same enemy." He indicated the window, where the Sergeant of the Guard was patrolling just outside. "And you know how the old saying goes. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.'"

"How profound," the Corporal replied.

Vulsor didn't reply; he glanced out the window and at the sergeant again. The American then turned to face away from the window.

"That sergeant knows how to read lips—in German and in English," he explained to the puzzled LeBeau, lowering his voice. "Corporal, I'm not here to discuss about our feuding families; there's something else I wanted to ask you—about Stalag 13."

"_Oui_?" LeBeau asked, also facing away from the windows as he finally added the herbs.

"You know that during the last escape, eighteen of my men headed for Stalag 13," Vulsor said. "Tell me, Corporal… Can I cease my worrying for them? Did the ten men who avoided recapture reach London?"

LeBeau glanced back at Vulsor. He wanted to believe that he was truly asking this out of the concern he had for his men; if he or any of his friends had escaped, Hogan would have been just as concerned. Hogan was undoubtedly concerned for the Corporal now. But even if Vulsor was on the level, there still was the chance that the walls had ears that neither of them knew of.

"_Pardon_, _Major_," he replied. "I am but a chef. I spend most of my time cooking, and my mind is in the kitchen."

Vulsor understood the Corporal's caution. This man was no fool.

"I see," the American said. "But I have also heard stories of a bear hibernating in Stalag 13." He didn't know exactly who Papa Bear was, but, based on what he had heard, people came to Stalag 13 to make contact with this Papa Bear—and subsequently found their way to freedom soon after. And there were also whispers of other activities that Papa Bear was involved with in order to ruin the German war effort.

"Bears are dangerous animals, _Major_," LeBeau replied. "That is why many would like to see them dead. But those who know and appreciate bears will die to protect them."

Vulsor blinked. This chef was undoubtedly one of Papa Bear's men, and he was willing to take any and all secrets to the grave, as any loyal man would.

"Just tell me one thing," he said. "Is it because of a bear that you are here?"

LeBeau sighed, thinking of the Englishman. "It's truly because of a fox," he muttered.

Vulsor frowned, trying to work out what the Frenchman meant. However, his train of thought was forced to activate the emergency brake upon hearing the sound of a staff car pulling into the compound. The car was soon followed by a truck, within which were the recaptured prisoners.

"Hochstetter is right on time," Vulsor murmured, peering through the window.

LeBeau cursed in his own tongue again as Hochstetter got out of the car and began to survey the prisoners as they got out of the truck. The guards were quickly ushering them towards the cooler, as the Frenchman had suspected.

Hochstetter let Mullenberg lead him to the dining area in his quarters as the sergeant, who had quickly gone to ensure that the returning prisoners were secure, returned to his station outside the window.

LeBeau sighed as he returned to the garnishing, all the while keeping an ear on the conversation, which was already off to a heated start.

"Did the men talk, Major Hochstetter?" Mullenberg asked.

"No, they did not," Hochstetter replied, scowling. "But I refuse to believe that they were heading to Stalag 13 because of rumors alone; something is going on there, and I _will_ find out what it is."

"I was telling that to Colonel Klink only last evening," Mullenberg mused. "He seems certain that there is nothing going on. Personally, I didn't see any evidence, but if there is, then I must give some credit of intelligence to whoever is behind it."

"I have had my eye on the prime suspects," Hochstetter went on, unaware that one of them was only a few yards away in the kitchen. "It's only a matter of time until they make the blunder that incriminates them. But if I can get these men to talk, I won't have to wait."

Mullenberg decided to say nothing about LeBeau at the moment; he assumed that as a prisoner from Stalag 13, the Frenchman either knew about the operation, or was a part of it. Aside from the fact that Hochstetter would take away his new chef for questioning, Mullenberg had his own ideas of getting information from the Frenchman. If he succeeded, he could present the information to Hochstetter himself; if he was to be the one responsible for dismantling the organization at Stalag 13, a promotion would be practically ensured to him.

"You weren't able to get any information from your spy?" Mullenberg asked.

"Gretel?" Hochstetter sneered. "I had her sent to Paris; Colonel Backsheider will deal with her."

LeBeau's eyes widened. Aside from the fact that he loathed the thought of that witch being in his beloved homeland, he remembered Colonel Backsheider all too well from the time that Hogan and he had rescued Tiger from him. It was a successful mission in more ways than one, for it was also when the Corporal had first crossed paths with Marya. His feelings for her had not faded.

"But why did you send Gretel to Paris in the first place?" Mullenberg asked, pulling LeBeau's thoughts away from the Russian temptress to focus on eavesdropping.

"I had reason to believe that she is working to discredit me; she was apparently reporting… certain activities to General von Siedelberg. She denies this; she claims that the prisoners of Stalag 13 have framed her."

"General von Siedelberg…?" Mullenberg repeated. "The name doesn't sound familiar to me."

"It will soon; he told me a few weeks ago that he's planning to transfer you to the Eastern Front due to the mass escape," Hochstetter replied.

"_What_!?"

"I am sure that the General must have reconsidered," Hochstetter went on, slightly amused by Mullenberg's discomfiture. "You would have heard by now if you were going anywhere." He, too, was wondering who exactly von Siedelberg was, having only seen the man once. "Colonel Klink apparently knows him; he said that he was most opposed to the idea of transferring prisoners; he blamed the escape on your shifting prisoners around. He is also easily irritated."

LeBeau laughed silently. Neither Mullenberg nor Hochstetter could have known, of course, that "General von Siedelberg" was actually one of Carter's many disguises. Ordinarily, it would have been expected that Hochstetter would have tried to track down this nonexistent general and find out more about him, but between dealing with Gretel and trying to uncover the secrets of Stalag 13, the task had been placed on Hochstetter's back burner. Regardless of the reason, LeBeau was pleased that the young American sergeant had successfully instilled some fear into these two men. Oh, if they only knew…

Mullenberg sat back in his chair, trying to put this general out of his mind. _All Klink has to do is mention about the Frenchman's transfer to von Siedelberg, and I will find myself in Russia. Well, with any luck, Klink would forget all about the transferred Corporal. And if I do manage to get some valuable information from him, then all will surely be forgiven!_

"What are you smirking about?" Hochstetter sneered, as Mullenberg began savoring the idea of a possible promotion again.

"Nothing, _Herr Major_," he replied. "Has Backsheider told you anything about Gretel?"

"Not yet; apparently, she is still sticking to her story about the prisoners trying to discredit her," Hochstetter said. "As much as I want to look out for my own interests, I can't help but wonder if she may be right. Those ruffians were probably trying to cover for that Englishman, Corporal Newkirk. She claimed that she got the information by tricking him, and that the other prisoners must have covered their tracks. My own doubts are as to whether or not she was indeed in love with the Englishman. Regardless, she will not be working for me anymore; should Backsheider decide that she was not working with the Englishman after all, she will stay in Paris and remain under his watchful eye."

LeBeau sneered, both at the thought of Gretel remaining in Paris and at the memory of how he had felt when Newkirk had betrayed their trust.

_Can you truly blame Pierre for being deceived when you, too, were fooled?_ the voice in his head asked. _When he brought her through the trapdoor, you were the first one to whistle and gawk!_

"Corporal!" Mullenberg's voice called. "Corporal, what's taking so long!?"

LeBeau bit his lip, wondering how on earth he was going to answer without the risk of Hochstetter recognizing his voice. Unlike the others, LeBeau was not able speak German or disguise his voice convincingly; as a result, when they impersonated Germans, he rarely spoke. Silently, he turned to Vulsor, his eyes speaking for him again.

"Dinner is just about ready, Kommandant," Vulsor announced.

Hochstetter grumbled. _Why do American officers seem to have so much freedom in these POW camps? First Hogan, and now this one…_

"_Merci_," LeBeau whispered to Vulsor, readying two servings of the appetizer.

Major Vulsor quickly spoke to the sergeant outside the window to send one of his men to serve the dinner. Within minutes, a young private arrived to serve the meal to Mullenberg and Hochstetter. Mullenberg didn't protest to this; he had his own reasons for ensuring that LeBeau went unseen.

"I had better get back to the barracks," sighed Vulsor. "We'll talk later, Corporal."

"_Oui_, _Major_." LeBeau saluted him once more.

Once he had gone, LeBeau sighed, leaning against the wall of the kitchen. It was a narrow escape this time, he realized, but the night wasn't over yet. He had to pray that Hochstetter would not catch a glimpse of him in some other way.

* * *

Most of Carter's attempts at cooking that day went no better than the ratatouille that morning. Even though he had decided to abandon French dishes after the morning's fiasco, the only remotely edible dish he presented was fried potatoes—something that the mess hall would have provided them with, anyway.

"I can try again tomorrow, Colonel," he offered. "If I just had a good recipe to follow, I could try the ratatouille again."

Hogan sportingly took a bite of the potatoes—and had to enlist the full power of his jaw muscles in order to chew.

"Carter, don't take this the wrong way, but I recommend that you stick with demolitions."

"Yes, Sir," Carter said, good-naturedly. "You know, Private Garlotti might be a better choice for replacement cook than I am."

The young Italian-American shrugged. His father was the one who owned a pizzeria in Newark, but he agreed to try his luck the next day.

"Alright, but tonight, break out the K-rations," Hogan said. He then turned to Sergeant Olsen. "Olsen, I need to talk to you."

"Sir?" the outside man asked.

"With LeBeau going out of the picture, we're going to need another member for the core team," Hogan began. "I'll need you to step up and take on some of his duties when we go out on our missions--"

"LeBeau ain't out of the picture yet, Sir!" Newkirk snapped from his bunk, adding the "Sir" only as an afterthought.

Hogan sighed to himself. He had expected this reaction from the Englishman.

"Newkirk, he's not trying to replace LeBeau," said Kinch. "He knows as well as the rest of us that LeBeau is irreplaceable. Try to understand his position; if we're going to continue with our operations, we can't afford to have the gap left by LeBeau's absence."

Newkirk opened his mouth to reply, but decided against it. He rolled back over on his bunk, facing away from everyone. He had no right to yell at them. The words kept replaying in his head: _if it hadn't been for you, this wouldn't have been an issue!_

Carter looked up at the corporal, sympathetically. He walked over to the bunk.

"You want some K-rations?" he offered.

"Not 'ungry."

"I'll leave some for you in case you change your mind."

Newkirk merely grunted in reply. The sleepless night he had spent yesterday was now catching up to him. He was only vaguely aware of Carter continuing to talk to him, and the American's voice was growing more and more distant as Newkirk slipped into slumber. It was still not a relief to the Englishman's troubled mind.

"You know, Louis is always going to be a member of the team, even when he's back home," Carter was saying. "Hey, he might even end up being one of our contacts on a mission someday; you never know…" The sergeant trailed off as he realized Newkirk had fallen asleep.

Hogan checked his watch; because they had been waiting for the results of Carter's final cooking experiment, they were eating rather late. Schultz would be coming around to order the lights out in about twenty minutes, assuming that he wasn't too upset with LeBeau's departure to bother with it tonight.

The colonel took one more look at Newkirk as Carter pulled the blanket up to the sleeping corporal's shoulders. He had a suspicion that the Englishman's morale for future missions might be next to nothing.

_Newkirk, you're as important to this operation as LeBeau was. Don't make me lose two men instead of one._

_

* * *

Newkirk was running, guided by the moonlight. He had taken the motorcycle from the motor pool and had driven for hours until he had neared the area where Stalag 6 was. When he deemed that he had been close enough, he had hidden the motorcycle and had taken off on foot._

_He gave a yelp as he realized that people were running in his direction—Allied fliers. Despite himself, Newkirk grinned; LeBeau must've led them to freedom already. He paused, trying to see if his friend was among the fleeing men, but he couldn't see the short Frenchman anywhere._

He's probably covering their escape_, he realized. He headed again towards Stalag 6, following the sounds of sirens, carefully avoiding the dogs and guards. _

_At last, the barbed wire of Stalag 6 was in view. His heart hammered in his chest as he scanned the area, but his face split into a grin as he finally spotted the small, running figure, barely illuminated by the moonlight as he headed for the hole in the barbed wire._

Well done, Louis; you did a smashing job! _Newkirk thought, as he headed towards the wire from the other end._

_LeBeau was still nearing the hole in the wire as Newkirk finally made it. But movement in the shadows of one of the buildings diverted the Englishman's attention. A figure was stepping out into the open, its face still hidden from the building's shadow. But the moonlight falling on the figure's all-too-familiar uniform quickly betrayed who it was._

"_Hochstetter!" Newkirk snarled. But his anger turned to horror as the moonlight glinted off of the gun in the major's hand. "Louis! Look out!"_

_His warning came too late, drowned out by two shots. LeBeau cried out in pain and fell forward, landing face-first on the snowy ground, just inches from freedom._

"_Louis!" Newkirk cried, now entering through the hole, not caring if Hochstetter got him, too. "LOUIS!" His heart skipped a beat, relieved as he realized that LeBeau was still breathing—albeit in pained gasps. "Louis!?" he whispered, as he knelt by his friend._

"Non, Pierre…!" _LeBeau gasped._ "Arrêt…!"

_Newkirk blinked, thinking that LeBeau didn't want to be moved because of the pain._

_Footsteps made the Englishman look up; Hochstetter was approaching the two of them. But as Newkirk looked into the face of the man in the major's uniform, his jaw dropped in utter horror, and it took all of his will not to scream._

_The major's face wasn't Hochstetter's; it was Newkirk's own face, sneering down at the injured LeBeau and at his horrified counterpart. The gun was still in his hand._

_Newkirk was staring at his double with such horror that it took him a long time to notice that there was another set of footsteps approaching them, as well. Looking at the new arrival, his blood ran even colder. It was Gretel._

_Newkirk's attention quickly turned back to his doppelganger as he took one more step towards them. With a swift movement, he placed the tip of his boot under LeBeau, and kicked to turn him over on his back._

"_Stop!" the Newkirk on the ground exclaimed, as LeBeau cried out in pain. He quickly began to cradle the wounded corporal._

_The Frenchman wasn't even noticing the Newkirk holding him; he was staring, pleadingly, at the cruel Newkirk glaring at him._

"Pierre…" _he rasped, overcome with physical and emotional pain._ "Pierre, non…! _Wake up_, Pierre…!" _Despair filled his eyes._ "Oh, pourquoi, Pierre…?"

_The Newkirk holding him could only continue to stare in horror as the standing Newkirk silently lifted the weapon again, aiming it—and his cruel glare—at LeBeau._

"Pierre…" _LeBeau whispered, a single tear falling from one of his eyes._

_The cruel Newkirk's lips curled into a satisfied smirk._

"_NO!" the Newkirk on the ground cried. _

_He reached up with his arm, trying to throw off his doppelganger's aim, but, again, he was too late. LeBeau could only manage half a gasp as he was struck again by the third shot. His eyes closed soon after._

"_Louis!?" the horrified Newkirk gasped, his voice cracking. _

_He glanced back at his doppelganger, who merely placed the weapon back in his pocket. He then turned to Gretel and kissed her, and the two walked away from the scene with their arms around each other._

_The left-behind Newkirk desperately fought back against the cry welling in his throat as he still cradled the lifeless LeBeau. But as Newkirk stared into the ashen face of the other corporal, he could not hold back any more; his friend's name tore from his lips again._

_

* * *

_Back in Stalag 13, Peter Newkirk awoke, sitting bolt upright in his bunk as he gasped for breath, the nightmare's visions still vivid in his mind. Outside Barracks Two, the winter wind howled, but that did not stop the sweat from pouring down the Englishman's face.


	5. Partners in Crime

Newkirk didn't move for a moment. By habit, he glanced at the now-empty top bunk over the trapdoor. The sight of the rolled-up mattress on the bare wood was no comfort to him.

"Louis…"

What was he doing here, sitting around as though nothing was happening! LeBeau was in danger! What if that dream was some sort of warning!

_Steady on, Peter_, the rational side of his mind chided him. _Since when have you ever believed in such things as premonitions? Your mind simply knows that you blame yourself for what happened._

All the same, though, it wouldn't hurt to take some sort of action to make sure that LeBeau was alright. Perhaps he could make contact with the underground near Dusseldorf and ask one of them to check on the situation in Stalag 6…

He attempted to make his way down from his bunk to the floor. The wood creaked loudly in protest as he moved.

"Huh? Whazzat…?" Carter sleepily mumbled from the bottom bunk.

Newkirk froze as the young American stirred slightly; it soon became clear that there would be no possible way of opening the bunk bed trapdoor without waking at least one person. All that the person had to do was awaken Hogan, and that would lead to an even stickier wicket.

With a disgusted sigh, Newkirk clambered back into his bunk. He stared blankly at the barracks roof. He knew that would not be getting anymore sleep, and it had nothing to do with the horribly lumpy mattress.

There had to be some way of finding out what was happening to LeBeau at Stalag 6. If the radio idea didn't work, then he would have to go there himself. He would have to choose a day when there was not much going on—a day when his absence was least likely to be missed. That was no small task.

_You won't be able to do anything on your own without Hogan finding out. You're going to have to take someone into your confidence. And there's only one man for that job._

The Englishman's thoughts turned to the man in the bottom bunk. Carter wouldn't like it, but there was no one else who would even consider covering for Newkirk at a time like this.

The fact that Carter would consider it was one step forward. It would take some smooth talking from Newkirk to convince him to go through with it; Carter never disobeyed orders, and he wouldn't be keen on breaking this tradition.

The Englishman sighed again. _How could it be that meeting one woman would cause such a domino effect?_

The only voice that responded was that of the howling winter wind. It provided no answers.

* * *

LeBeau's first night at Stalag 6 went considerably smoother than that of his worried friend. Hochstetter had decided to return to Hammelburg immediately after dinner; however, the major had promised to return again for another meeting with Mullenberg at an unspecified date, complimenting him on the new chef he had found. LeBeau had been relieved that Hochstetter had been in too much of a hurry to thank the chef personally.

Hardly daring to believe that he had somehow escaped being noticed—for that night, anyway—LeBeau had collapsed onto his bunk that night, sending a small prayer of thanks, along with a wish that he would be able to get himself, along with the eight men in the cooler, out of here before Hochstetter came back.

LeBeau managed to sleep a long, dreamless sleep that night. When morning came, and his eyes were still shut, he temporarily forgot where he was.

"Corporal? Corporal, the kommandant wants you to prepare his breakfast."

"Tell Klink to make his own breakfast," LeBeau mumbled, turning over in his bunk.

"Mullenberg, Corporal," the voice replied. LeBeau now recognized the voice as Major Vulsor. "I think he has plans to question you about Stalag 13 after you serve him."

LeBeau now jerked awake, quickly sweeping away his mental cobwebs. He clambered out of his bunk, cursing Colonel Mullenberg as he grabbed his red sweater.

"It's bad enough that I have to cater to his every hunger; now I have to put up with interrogations, too?"

"Just relax, Corporal," said Vulsor. "I have every right to be present while you're being interrogated; and you are not required to tell him anything."

"Don't worry about that," LeBeau said, darkly, as he and Vulsor headed back to the kitchen. "I am just lucky that Hochstetter has left." He paused, looking around to make sure that they were not being overheard. "You were saying that you wished to talk to me, as well?"

"I did, but it dawned on me that I doubt that I would get much from you, either," he replied. "Perhaps the less I know, the better it will be for us—and for those men in the cooler. I will leave you to whatever it is you have planned." _And I'll leave you to whatever Papa Bear has planned, too. But if there's any way that I can help, I will do my best to do so_.

LeBeau blinked, turning to face the major. He was grateful for the American's discretion; the last thing he needed was anyone hounding him for information, regardless of which side he was on. The Frenchman gave him a nod and set about preparing a quick breakfast for Mullenberg.

"Major Hochstetter spends a lot of time at Stalag 13," Mullenberg said, as he began to eat. He glanced at the corporal, who knew very well what was coming. "It's only a matter of time until he finds out that you are here, and will then proceed to use his own methods of interrogation on you. Your good friend… ah, what is his name—that American colonel at Stalalg 13? He is not here to protect you from Hochstetter anymore." He snapped his fingers. "_Was ist sein Name…?_"

LeBeau had to force himself not to roll his eyes at Mullenberg's obvious attempts at trying to trick him. He cast a glance at Vulsor, as though asking if Mullenberg was really crediting him with this level of intelligence.

Vulsor only shrugged, but gave a silent warning that the colonel would soon resort to other means if this one soon proved to be useless.

"Why do you ask me?" LeBeau asked. "What makes you think that I ever speak to the man? I am but a corporal and a chef; I have better thing to do than to socialize with an American _colonel_ who is concerned with other things!"

"All it takes is a phone call to find out the man's name," Mullenberg said, frowning.

"Go right ahead; I am not stopping you!" LeBeau replied. "More toast?"

"_Nein_," the colonel replied, beginning to get annoyed. He was going to have to take a different approach with this Frenchman. "Even if you do not associate with that colonel, surely there is someone you associate with at Stalag 13. Why else were you reluctant to leave?"

"Your reputation preceded you," LeBeau replied, without missing a beat.

Vulsor suppressed a snicker as Mullenberg grew more and more frustrated.

"I suppose that you expect me to believe that you are a loner," the colonel said. "You keep yourself busy in the kitchen, so you don't talk to anyone else?"

"More coffee, _Colonel_?"

"_Nein_. You don't even associate with people in your own rank, like that British corporal who was going to be transferred here before you?" Mullenberg asked, recalling the name that Klink had mentioned to him. "I believe his name was Newkirk?"

LeBeau froze for the briefest moment, but picked up his composure again in an instant. He let out a derisive laugh.

"You expect me to let him into my kitchen?" he replied, even though it was somewhat the truth; food was one topic that he and Newkirk would never see eye-to-eye on.

LeBeau paused, trying to come up with a good retort. "Why don't you ask Major Vulsor here to sit in on one of your staff meetings? It follows your logic—if you can call it that!"

Mullenberg glowered at the insult, missing LeBeau's initial unease at Newkirk being brought into the conversation.

"Corporal, you do not seem to realize that I am trying to _help_ you; wouldn't it be easier for you to talk to me now rather than face Hochstetter's interrogation later?" he asked. "Whatever it is that you refuse to tell me, Hochstetter will get it from you in ways that are highly unpleasant."

"You will resist Hochstetter's discovery of my presence for as long as you can," LeBeau replied, calmly. "You took me from Stalag 13 to be your personal chef; why would you want Hochstetter to haul me away?"

"Try my patience for much longer, and I will call him right now and hand you over to him!" the colonel promised.

LeBeau wasn't worried; it didn't take a genius to see that Mullenberg wanted to deliver information to Hochstetter, not a person. And there was nothing that would make the corporal talk.

"How did those ten men disappear?" Mullenberg went on. "Captain Anderson and the rest of them could not have vanished into thin air!"

"You don't believe in magic, _Colonel_?" the Frenchman asked, with mock surprise.

"No, I do not," the colonel spat. "I agree with Hochstetter—there is something going on, and you know something about it!"

"Louis LeBeau, Corporal, H124-"

"Enough!" Mullenberg said. "Perhaps some time in the cooler will loosen your tongue!"

LeBeau pretended to glare in angry protest; this was working out better than he had expected, but he could not afford to let that become obvious.

"Sir, you can't do that!" said Vulsor. "You can't throw a man in the cooler for not giving information that he isn't even required to give!"

"Watch me," the colonel snarled. "And any protests from you will result in you serving time there, as well!"

Vulsor exchanged a glance with LeBeau. He blinked at the look in the Frenchman's eyes, and, with a mock sigh, stood aside.

"I am sorry, Corporal," he said. "I'll try my best to see if I can get him to change his mind."

"A futile effort," Mullenberg promised, as guards came to take LeBeau away. "He will only be released to prepare lunch."

Vulsor watched LeBeau being taken away, still feigning the look of disapproval. In truth, he was becoming more and more intrigued by this corporal, idly wondering how long it would be until he found a way to get those eight men to freedom—and if there was any possible way that the corporal could find a way to free the major, as well.

"If that's all, Kommandant, I think I'd better be getting back to the barracks-"

"That is not all," Mullenberg replied. "I am surprised at you, Vulsor. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you hold no animosity towards this corporal?"

"Should I?"

"It would be expected, I should think, after what the sergeant told me last night; he was able to get the gist of your conversation in the kitchen—something about someone from his family ruining your dear mother?"

Vulsor cursed; he had a feeling that the sergeant had lip-read the first half of their conversation.

"And yet, you insist on taking his side in this whole matter," the colonel continued. "You could be in a position to avenge your mother."

"If you're wondering whether or not I'd tell you anything he told me about Stalag 13, I won't," Vulsor replied. "He didn't even tell me anything, first of all."

"Dastardly clever," Mullenberg said. "He doesn't trust you; you shouldn't be so quick to defend him, either. You know very well that what I said is true; if I don't get him to talk, Hochstetter eventually will. I can't keep the corporal a secret from him forever."

"You're wasting your time, Colonel; I'm not going to try getting any information from Corporal LeBeau."

"I am not asking you to do anything of the sort," the colonel said. "All I would like is a little more detail on your mother's research."

The American froze. "You want her truth serum," he realized.

"Either the sample, or the formula—just what I need to get any information I want from that Frenchman," Mullenberg agreed.

"What kind of rat do you think I am!" Vulsor shot back.

"As you wish; I don't need you," the colonel said. "I'm sure the details of the case are on file in Paris; one call to Colonel Backsheider might be even more effective than trying to ask you for assistance."

"Won't Backsheider get suspicious when he hears you asking about truth serums?" asked Vulsor. "That's _his_ racket, not yours."

"I don't think so; he knows that you are a prisoner here. I could be getting the information on your mother in order to check something on you." Mullenberg smirked. "You may go."

The American departed the office, knowing that he had to warn LeBeau of this development; the ugly truth of the matter was that chances were good that Mullenberg was right.

* * *

"No! Absolutely not!" the young sergeant exclaimed, as he stared at the Englishman in shock.

"Andrew-"

"Boy, you've got guts to even _think_ about going against Colonel Hogan's orders," Carter said. "But now you want me to get in on this, too!"

After they had dispersed after morning roll call, Newkirk had taken Carter aside with his proposition of asking him to help. Carter was not as open to the idea as Newkirk had hoped he would be.

"Andrew, you don't understand," said the corporal. "Just 'ear me out for a moment." He hadn't told Carter about the nightmare yet, mainly because he didn't want to be accused of believing in something as ridiculous as premonitions, but it was looking as though that he had no choice.

"Look, I know this is about Louis," Carter replied, with a sigh. "I didn't like the idea of sending him out there, either. But I trust Colonel Hogan. I mean… when you messed up by bringing Gretel in here, he was the one who figured out how to save us!"

Newkirk winced. "I deserved that, I did," he murmured.

"Sorry to bring it up, but I guess what I'm trying to say is that you should give his plan a chance! The last thing the colonel wants is for anything to happen to Louis."

"I know that, but not even the colonel is perfect!" Newkirk retorted, his voice rising higher than he had intended. "What if e's wrong this time! What 'appens to Louis in a case like that?"

"I don't know," Carter answered, honestly. "But we have to hope for the best."

"That's not good enough for me," said Newkirk. "Based on me past experiences, I can't trust anything to fate. I'm not an optimist like you, Andrew. I see things as they are, not as they might be, and I act based on the moment."

"Right, and bringing Gretel through the tunnels was the best idea you had at that moment?" Carter hated having to play the Gretel card for the second time, but he was desperate to keep Newkirk from getting into further trouble.

"Yeah, at the time, it seemed like the best ruddy idea I 'ad," Newkirk admitted. "But this isn't about some civilian we don't know well; this is about Louis—_our_ Louis."

"I know!" Carter exclaimed. "Don't think that this isn't hard for me, too, because it is! You don't know how tempting it is to throw on the General von Siedelberg disguise and get him out of there!"

"We don't need to go that far; we just need to make sure that Louis is okay in there," said Newkirk. "I don't want to stop 'im from going 'ome; I just want to make sure that 'e gets there! Look, I've seen Kinch and Baker use the radio before; I just need to get in touch with the Dusseldorf underground and ask someone to see if they can just check on 'im."

"What happens if that agent gets caught?"

"I'll tell 'im not to put 'imself in any danger; if there's no way to check, then forget it," said Newkirk. "And then I'll think of another plan."

"I don't like this," Carter said, shaking his head. "I really think you should reconsider and leave everything to Colonel Hogan."

"I can't, Andrew. I just can't," the Englishman replied. "I can't stand the thought of something 'appening to Louis that we could've prevented. Can you?"

The sergeant's mouth dropped open slightly. "Of course not!"

"Then are you in, or are you out?" Newkirk asked.

Carter took a moment to reply, trying to weigh each of the choices he had to choose from first.

"Okay," he sighed. "I'll keep an eye out and make sure that no one's coming down to use the radio. I can give you five minutes—ten tops."

"That'll be enough," Newkirk said. "And if anyone asks you anything, just pull a Schultz and say that you knew nothing." He sighed, grateful that he had at least one person on his side, albeit a reluctant one. "Thank you, Andrew."

"Yeah," said Carter, forcing a wan smile. "No problem." _I hope_.


	6. The Best Laid Plans

_Author's notes: This chapter is a bit shorter than the others; I had originally intended to include a flashback of the operation's first field mission, but I soon realized that it would be much more powerful as a separate fic. Newkirk's impersonation in this chapter was inspired by episode 113, "Up in Klink's Room," and LeBeau's claustrophobia was first addressed in episode 14, "Oil for the Lamps of Hogan."_

* * *

Carter stayed true to his words, even though the wheedling voice in his head kept insisting that this was wrong. Pretending to be deep in thought, he paced the area beside the bunk that concealed the trapdoor. The cover story would be that Newkirk was just moping in the tunnels again, like he had been the previous day. Hopefully, Hogan would not choose the next ten minutes to hold a pep talk for the Englishman.

Newkirk set to work warming up the radio. He cleared his throat before talking, taking a deep breath. There would be too many questions if his voice was heard; he would have to imitate Hogan's voice as best as he could.

"Papa Bear to Briar Rose," he said, deepening his voice. "Papa Bear to Briar Rose, do you read me?"

"Reading you loud and clear, Papa Bear," a voice answered.

"Papa Bear requesting status of the eight bowls of porridge at Stalag 6, plus one—imported from France," Newkirk said. "Any and all news about them requested, but do not, repeat, do not put yourself at any risk."

"Affirmative, Papa Bear," the voice replied. "Will attempt to find out everything we can about them, and will report findings to you by tonight."

Newkirk flinched. That wouldn't work; if Kinch or Baker—or worse, Hogan—happened to be at the radio when Briar Rose reported in, the Englishman would never hear the end of it.

"Negative, Briar Rose," he said. "It's too risky at this end; I'll get in touch with you again when I'm ready to receive the information—tonight or tomorrow morning, most likely."

There was a pause.

"Affirmative, Papa Bear."

Newkirk finally let out a sigh of relief. Part one of the plan was over, and had worked. Hopefully part two would give him the information he would want to hear—that LeBeau was alright.

"Thank you, Briar Rose. Over and out."

Newkirk shut the radio off, sidling over to where the other wine bottles had been kept. He poured and drank one drink to make it look a bit authentic, and proceeded to climb up through the bunk bed trapdoor, holding onto the bottle.

Carter gave him a glance, the relief evident on his face.

"Don't ever make me do this again," he pleaded.

"Just once more so that I can get a reply from them," Newkirk promised. "That won't be for a while; you can relax until then."

"You know what I mean," Carter said. "Going against the colonel's orders--"

The young sergeant fell silent as Hogan himself entered the barracks. The colonel glanced at them both, his officer's sixth sense telling him that something was amiss. Glancing at the bottle in Newkirk's hand, his first thought was the wine being the cause of whatever problem there was.

"Newkirk, I think you've had enough of that," he said.

"Yes, Sir," the Englishman replied, placing the bottle aside. He gave a look to Carter, trying to tell him that everything would be alright.

The sergeant was not convinced; as far as he was concerned, he had just helped Newkirk dig himself into a hole—one that could only get deeper.

"Carter?" Hogan asked.

"Sir!" he replied, snapping to attention.

"At ease…" Hogan said, his eyebrows arching slightly. Carter only acted like this when something was bothering him. Hogan initially assumed that he was worried for LeBeau, but there seemed to be more to it than that. "I just wanted you to keep track of Klink's incoming and outgoing calls; let me know if any of them involve Burkhalter."

"Sure, but… why Burkhalter?" Carter asked.

"I highly doubt that Klink is going to tell him about the transfer—I might be able to use that to my advantage somehow," the colonel replied.

"You mean… get Burkhalter to insist on Louis coming back?" Newkirk asked.

"No; I gave LeBeau my word that he didn't have to come back here if he didn't want to. And he chose to escape. But Burkhalter can put the bite on Mullenberg long enough to distract him from what LeBeau is up to. LeBeau and those eight fliers can use that time to make their escape."

"Does it 'ave to be Burkhalter, Sir?" Newkirk asked. "If Carter puts on that General von Siedelberg disguise again, it'll give us a little insurance policy on the escape. We can't depend on Burkhalter."

Carter stared at Newkirk, his expression unreadable.

"We're going to have to try and see how things go with Burkhalter first," said Hogan. "I already told you that there's too much of a risk if we get personally involved."

"But it's also more likely to work if we're involved," Newkirk muttered under his breath.

Hogan didn't hear him—not that Newkirk had intended him to.

"Keep your ears open," Hogan said to Carter. "Use the recorder if you think the call is important enough. I'll be inserting the idea into Schultz's head, in the meantime."

"Right, Sir," said Carter, saluting again as Hogan moved to go out the door.

"Carter, you're going to give us away," Newkirk said, after Hogan had left. "Stop being so conspicuous!"

"Give _us_ away?" Carter asked. "You hold on for just a second! I was against this idea from the start!"

"That well may be, but now you're in the thick of it with me, aren't you?"

"Well, if that's the case, then I'm getting out of it—and _staying_ out of it! Good night!"

"…It's ten in the morning, Andrew."

"And that's beside the point!"

"Right," Newkirk said, pretending to throw in the towel. "I shouldn't force you to go against the colonel's orders—in spite of whatever they do to Louis."

"Do you have to make this so difficult?" Carter asked, a pained expression on his face.

"Yeah, I do," Newkirk replied, as though he was stating the obvious. "But I'm thinking about someone else, mind you. I wouldn't be going against Colonel Hogan's orders solely for me own benefit. I'm trying to right the wrongs that I made and get our Louis out of there."

"The cause is a great one," Carter agreed. "I'm just not sold on the means."

"Well, of course, you wouldn't be," Newkirk said, with a wave of his hand. "You toe the line and do as you're told. You're not as rebellious as I am. And given your knowledge of demolitions, I reckon we should all be grateful for that."

"Yeah, and speaking of following orders, I'd better go to that coffeepot and listen in on Klink." Carter headed towards Hogan's office, but paused. "You know, you just said that you weren't surprised that I didn't like your idea."

"So?"

"Do you think Louis would go for you disobeying the colonel—for his sake, too? He wouldn't care for it, if you ask me; he always believes in the colonel. What do you think he'd say to you?"

Without waiting for a reply, Carter headed inside to office.

"Cor, thanks a lot!" Newkirk yelled after him, as he recalled the times that LeBeau had convinced him to follow Hogan's orders—particularly on their early missions. "You 'ad to go and say that, didn't you?"

Carter stuck his head out of the office door, unable to hide his smile.

"Yeah, I did," he said, using the same stating-the-obvious tone of voice that Newkirk had used earlier.

"Go listen to your ruddy coffeepot."

Carter retreated inside, leaving the Englishman to ponder over what he had said.

_You can't second-guess yourself now; you have to do this for Louis—whether he likes it or not_, he rationalized. _And you can't depend on anyone else getting him out of here._

He wanted LeBeau to return to Stalag 13, but, as Hogan had mentioned, the Frenchman had already made his choice. Newkirk couldn't blame him, of course; given the opportunity, he would've been out of here in a heartbeat, embracing sweet freedom. When the emergency tunnel had first been completed, Newkirk had contemplated escape many times; only his loyalty had kept him from disobeying Hogan's orders about no escapes, in spite of however close he had come to making a clean break.

And it was not easily for Newkirk to ignore his loyalties and go against Hogan's orders this time, but the Englishman's motivation was from another source. After all, worse than the idea of betraying Colonel Hogan's trust was the haunting image of the French corporal lying in a coffin.

* * *

Major Vulsor hovered around the outer office as Mullenberg called Colonel Backsheider. Based on the tone of Mullenberg's voice, Backsheider didn't mind fulfilling the Kommandant's request. It turned out that Backsheider had been trying to have the serum replicated from the formula in the case file; success had been limited, but he was willing to send a sample of their work in the hopes that Vulsor himself could tell them what adjustments had to be made. It would arrive tomorrow by special courier.

Oblivious to the impending danger, LeBeau was communicating with the other prisoners in the cooler by Morse code; he was able to send and receive messages from the prisoner in the next cell. It was a risky move; there was every chance that the guards would catch on, and LeBeau was keeping an eye out for passing shadows blocking the small sliver of light that shone under the door—the telltale presence of a guard outside. He had instructed the prisoner to look out for the same thing.

"_How do we know that we can trust you? You could be a plant_," the prisoner relayed.

"_Major Vulsor will vouch for me, if you can get in touch with him. I am Corporal Louis LeBeau of Stalag Thirteen._"

"_A Frenchman?_"

"_I can give you the words to 'La Marseillaise,' if it will convince you._" The eyeroll could easily be pictured in the way that LeBeau sent out the message.

"_Don't bother._" The prisoner seemed to be rolling his eyes, as well.

LeBeau paused, searching for a way to let the man know that he could be trusted. It was a risk he had to take. Briefly pressing his ear to the door to make sure that no one was coming, he proceeded to quickly send out another message.

"_I am here to act on the behalf of someone who can help you—someone who was trying to help you before Hochstetter stopped you. In my language, we would call this person_ Père Ours."

The prisoner didn't reply; perhaps he didn't know French. If that was the case, then LeBeau was stymied; he was not going to risk tapping out "Papa Bear" in English.

There was the very faint sound of tapping; the prisoner was talking to another prisoner. The corporal waited with baited breath until he finally received a reply.

"_I got a translation. We will trust you._"

"_Good_," LeBeau responded. "_How much does Hochstetter know?_"

"_Assuming that the others are telling the truth, he does not know any more than the fact that we were heading towards Stalag Thirteen. His interrogation methods are only going to get worse; is there any way you can get us out of here before he comes back?_"

"_I cannot make any promises_," LeBeau replied. "_But I shall try._"

"_Good_. _What is your plan for ditching this cage_?"

"_I am still working on that. I have a pair of sleeping pills to slip to Mullenberg on the night we make our move, but it shall have to wait until he lowers his guard enough_."

LeBeau felt for the pills under his collar, and blinked as he felt more than just two pills. He instantly knew who was behind this.

"Oh, _Pierre_…" he muttered. He wasn't upset with the Englishman for this; he must've done this with the best of intentions.

"_That will work to keep Mullenberg out of our hair until we are clean away_," the prisoner agreed. "_But how do we get past the guards? Is there any chance that you were outfitted with a weapon before you came here?_"

"_No, but I have limited access to a chef's knife. Mullenberg has given me the task of preparing his meals._"

"_That will not be enough_," the prisoner replied.

"_Never underestimate anyone short when he holds a chef's knife_," LeBeau warned him. "_Just give me enough time to think; I will find some way_."

More than ever, LeBeau wished for the others to be here. Hogan was an expert at thinking out of the box, and Newkirk's skills at that were very good, too; between the two of them, they could probably come up with a plan involving Carter blowing the cell doors off of their hinges while Kinch kept Mullenberg busy with a fake phone call.

The Frenchman had no such help on this solo mission, other than that of Major Vulsor, whom he was still not ready to fully trust.

"_Right, Corporal_," the prisoner said. "_We will leave it in your hands._"

LeBeau's heart began to hammer, and it wasn't due to the enclosed space of the cell he was in. His options for an escape attempt were few, and practically impossible. Sleeping pills and a chef's knife were all but worthless against the guards and their rifles.

Their best bet would be to construct a tunnel. A tunnel presented another set of problems, the main one being that with most of his time being spent in the kitchen, LeBeau would have to trust the other prisoners to construct it without fleeing themselves. Leading eight men was going to be difficult enough; he did not need more to worry about.

And then there was the issue of the time it would take to make the tunnel; the Frenchman didn't want to spend any more time in here than he had to. More than that, the prisoner's worries were not unfounded; Hochstetter would be continuing his interrogation of the eight men. Under the man's cruel methods, they would be able to maintain their silence for only so long.

"_D'accord_," he mumbled to no one in particular. "I am willing to admit that I might be in over my head this time."

He shut his eyes to stave off the claustrophobia he suffered from, determined to think up something on his own. He would have to confide in the American major; there was no other alternative.

He only hoped that he would not regret this decision.


	7. In Too Deep

The rest of the day passed by slowly for those dwelling in both Stalags. LeBeau was released from the cooler in time to prepare Mullenberg's lunch. The colonel did not question him further; the promise of the truth serum's arrival was enough to allow him to postpone his questioning until it arrived.

LeBeau noticed that the colonel had not continued with the interrogation; he immediately began to suspect something. It was later in the day, during the preparation of dinner, that LeBeau finally got the chance to speak with Major Vulsor in the kitchen. Before the Frenchman had a chance to ask him about possible escape attempts, the major warned him of Mullenberg's plan first.

"I should not have brought it up," the major said, disdainfully.

"How could you have known?" LeBeau asked. He winced as he once again thought of Newkirk; how could the Englishman have known of Gretel's true identity? He pushed the thought aside for the moment. "Does this serum work?"

"I'm not sure," the major replied. "She only got a chance to test it once, but she never wrote down what the results were. And this isn't even the original serum; it's what Backsheider's boys have been working on, based on the notes that do exist."

"Then maybe I'll be lucky, and it won't work," hoped the corporal. Hope was all he could do at the moment; one slight slip of the tongue was all that it would take to sentence himself and his closest friends to death.

The Frenchman lowered his voice as he went on. "Chances are good that Mullenberg is only going to start with a small dosage of this serum; it gives me time to work on an escape plan." He sighed. "I will be needing your help after all, it seems. I do not have the manpower to break those eight men out of here by myself."

The major blinked; LeBeau was undoubtedly desperate if he was willing to trust him so readily. And with the looming threat of a truth serum ready to expose Papa Bear's organization, the corporal had every right to be desperate.

"I will help in whatever way I can," he promised.

"_Merci_, but I am not sure of what to do just yet," LeBeau confessed. "I have the means to put Mullenberg out of action for a few hours, but that won't help with getting past the guards. Do you have any ideas?"

"How spicy do you cook your food?"

"That depends," the corporal replied. "I could fire up some dishes if I was requested to do so, but it is very rare that I am asked. And Klink cannot even take it; the one time I tried adding some spice to his food, he was brought to his knees, drinking directly from the water pitcher. He forbade me from making anything like that ever again; he promised to send me to the cooler for trying to make him ill if I did."

Vulsor chuckled, but then grew serious again as he pondered over their options. "It'd be impossible to get some hot peppers here, but do you happen to have any of your own—fresh or dried?"

"_Oui_; I managed to get some peppers after pulling some strings; I dried them out, and I grind them as I need them," he said. Actually, it had been Hogan who had pulled the strings, asking a baffled Mama Bear for spices on LeBeau's behalf on one particular occasion. Mama Bear eventually indulged the request; London had long since learned that all requests from Hogan, however bizarre they might be, were better off granted.

"If you've brought it with you, we're in business," said Vulsor. "A pinch of that in the eyes of the guards, and they won't be able to see if you're coming or going—and they certainly won't be able to aim. It won't be enough, but it's a start."

LeBeau stared in amazement. After all the cooking he had done, the idea had never once crossed his mind.

"_Incroyable_," he mused. If this worked, and he successfully escaped, he would have to tell Newkirk and Carter about it… if he ever had the chance to talk to them again.

He hurriedly pushed the thought from his mind, not wanting to think about the different—and terrible—circumstances that could prevent him from talking to them again.

"Major, I think I shall enjoy working with you," he said.

"So do I, Corporal," the older man replied. "Let's just hope that Backsheider's take on Mother's serum won't put this partnership to a premature end."

LeBeau only nodded as he turned back to his cooking, staring at the stew bubbling on the stove. More than ever, he longed for a tunnel to disappear into.

* * *

For Newkirk, the waiting game had never been more maddening than today. He hardly ate, in spite of the fact that Private Garlotti had succeeded in making a decent meal for both lunch and dinner.

"Newkirk, a man doesn't live on wine alone," Hogan said, seeing that the corporal had, for the most part, skipped dinner. He glanced at the bottle, which was almost as the same level it had been since morning; the glass in Newkirk's hand was full, as though he hadn't touched it in hours. "And you haven't been drinking much of that, either—not that I want you to."

Newkirk mumbled something incoherently, but Hogan distinctly discerned the words "not hungry."

That wasn't the problem, Hogan knew. The core of the problem was LeBeau's absence, and judging by Carter's nervous state, Newkirk was planning to take things into his own hands—or already had. The colonel made a mental note to keep an eye on him. He wouldn't past the Englishman to do something rash when being driven by emotion; in fact, it was almost expected.

"Do eat something if you get hungry, hmm?"

Newkirk just mumbled something else in reply, raising the glass to his lips as Carter opened the door to the office again.

"I've picked up some information, Sir," he said. "Do you want the bad news or the good news first?"

"The good news," Hogan said, humoring the sergeant.

"Well, the good news is that Schultz told Klink about Burkhalter getting upset over the transfer, especially the reasons for it, and Klink was pretty nervous," Carter said. "The bad news, though, is that Klink said he's lucky that Burkhalter is on furlough somewhere in the Alps right now."

Hogan fought the urge to slap his forehead.

"So much for that idea," he sighed. "Time to come up with a Plan B…"

To his surprise, Newkirk remained silent, not offering a single one of the undoubtedly numerous plans forming in his head. The Newkirk that Hogan knew wouldn't miss an opportunity to speak his mind.

Dismissing it for the moment, Hogan pondered on a backup plan for a moment before coming to a decision.

"There's no other choice; I need to get in touch with the Düsseldorf Underground."

Newkirk sputtered and coughed slightly on account of trying to stifle his gasp while drinking the wine. Carter conspicuously paled. Hogan glanced at the both of them, his eyebrows arching in suspicion.

"Would you like me to get in touch with them now, Colonel?" Kinch asked.

"Not right this second; it should be time for lights out, and I want to give some time to make sure that Schultz isn't going to be coming in here," said Hogan, wanting to see what a delay would cause Newkirk and Carter to do. He crossed to his office, pausing as Carter stood aside. "I guess you can go off of coffeepot duty. Oh, and Olsen—can you hit the lights?"

He went inside as Carter stepped out and as Olsen turned the lights off.

"And I reckon I'll go put the wine away," Newkirk said, picking up the bottle.  
"Feel like keeping me company, Carter?"

_Honestly, no_, the sergeant thought, wondering what Newkirk was going to drag him into now; it could only get deeper from here. Despite the feeling of impending disaster, he followed Newkirk down the tunnel.

"Any other bright ideas?" the American whispered, uncharacteristically harsh.

"I'm working on one," Newkirk said. "But it'd take a fair bit of smooth talking to convince Briar Rose to pretend that she never heard the first order; she might suspect that one of the Papa Bears was a fake."

"That's because the 'Papa Bear' she spoke to _was_ a fake!" Carter countered. "There's only one way out of this; you've got to tell Colonel Hogan that you impersonated him! He's going to figure it out once he picks up that radio!"

"I know; I'm trying to figure out 'ow far along the road to Düsseldorf we can be by then. The von Siedelberg disguise is back there, and there's a captain's uniform, too, with I.D. all ready to go; I can go as your aide."

Carter's jaw dropped open.

"No!" he insisted. "I went along with you all this time, even though I didn't want to; I am not going to Stalag 6 as von Siedelberg or _anyone_!"

"I'm only going to go if there's no information on Louis… or if it looks like the Guv'nor is going to give me an injury for impersonating 'im."

"We are not going to Stalag 6 for those reasons, or any other ones!" Carter said, clenching his fists. "Newkirk… don't make me have to pull rank on you!"

The words sounded as though someone else had spoken, not the normally mild-mannered technical sergeant who usually didn't care about rank. Even Carter himself hardly recognized the voice as his own; the words were as foreign to him as the ones he would utter while in disguise as a German.

The Englishman gave a dark glare to the younger American. "You wouldn't dare…"

Carter did not want to have to resort to this; it was a card that he had never wanted to play—especially not on one of his closest friends. Regardless, his voice remained perfectly calm.

"Try me. I didn't become a technical sergeant just because of my expertise in demolitions, you know." He stared straight into the corporal's eyes. "We are not going to Düsseldorf; we are not going out of this camp."

"Right, then, _Sergeant_; at least I know where we stand," Newkirk replied, bitterness lacing his voice. "As you wish; _we_ are not going to Düsseldorf."

Satisfied, Carter turned to head back upstairs.

"_I'll_ go alone," Newkirk muttered at his retreating back. He couldn't blame Carter for doing what he did, of course; looking back, it hadn't been fair to try to get Carter involved in a dangerous scheme.

Once he was sure that Carter had gone, Newkirk set to work getting the captain's uniform ready; the papers would give his name as Captain Sturm von Leonhart, and a few addition details would describe him as von Siedelberg's aide.

After brushing the tunnel dust off of the uniform, Newkirk proceeded to wait and see the developments before deciding to change into it. He did not have to wait for very long; Hogan, Kinch, and Baker soon arrived in the radio room.

"Papa Bear to Briar Rose," Hogan said. "Come in, Briar Rose."

"Reading you loud and clear, Papa Bear," Briar Rose replied. "I regret to inform you that I was unable to get the information on the bowls of porridge you requested earlier."

"What…?" Hogan quietly exclaimed. He exchanged a glance with the two radiomen before turning back to the set. "Could you please repeat that, Briar Rose?"

"I regret to inform you that I was unable to get the information on the status of the nine bowls of porridge you requested this morning," Briar Rose answered. "The area was too heavily guarded; we were unable to get anywhere near it. Our agents were driven from the area."

Hogan's eyes narrowed. "Newkirk."

"He didn't…" Baker said, with a shake of his head.

"Oh, I think he did," Kinch replied, decidedly not amused by the Englishman's antics. "What now, Colonel?"

Hogan drummed his fingertips on the table for a moment before picking up the transmitter again.

"Message received and understood, Briar Rose," he said.

"We can also report, Papa Bear, that Major Hochstetter left this morning; he intends to return at an unspecified time and date," Briar Rose added. "I do not know if that information will be of any value to you."

"It might very well be," Hogan replied, "But I recommend that you all lay low for some time, especially if Hochstetter intends to return. You've already stuck your necks out."

"Understood, Papa Bear; we will wait for your next instructions. Briar Rose out."

"So much for Plan B," Baker sighed.

"And you can thank Newkirk for lousing that up," Kinch replied, bitterly, as he shut the radio down.

"I'm sure Newkirk meant well," the younger techie answered. "He's worried about Louis like the rest of us."

"Newkirk _always_ means well, just like he did when he thought he was rescuing that girl. Newkirk doesn't understand that the more he carries on like this, the worse it's going to get for us," Kinch said. "We can't even use the Düsseldorf Underground anymore; unless LeBeau can make some friends in that camp, he's on his own for this!"

The Englishman, who had been further down the tunnel and able to hear every word, flinched. He hadn't realized that he might render Briar Rose's operation temporarily useless, and that was exactly what he had ended up doing. The guards were likely to remember the faces of the agents they had driven off; they would get too suspicious if they saw them in the area again.

Newkirk now glanced at the captain's uniform in his hands. Carter's words quickly came back to him, along with the ones that Kinch had just spoken. They were right; he was in deep enough trouble now. Dare he risk getting in deeper?

He shut his eyes, and the vision of the previous night's dream came, unbidden, to his mind. It was almost a self-fulfilling prophecy; Newkirk had, unknowingly, just severed the only contact that LeBeau could have had with the outside, putting him in greater danger than before.

_He's on his own for this_… Newkirk mentally echoed Kinch.

The corporal's eyes shot open. He couldn't let LeBeau handle this on his own; one man taking on the entire staff of Stalag 6 by himself would not make it out alive. Even if the risk was too great, Newkirk would have to go as Captain von Leonhart and arrange something—anything!

As Baker spoke again, the corporal drew himself back to the present.

"You're rather quiet, Colonel; do you have any ideas?"

"No, I don't," said Hogan. "But I do know that I need to have a long talk with a certain corporal."

Newkirk's mind raced as the three headed back up to the barracks; they would be looking for him. Perhaps, if he left right now, he could be back by morning roll call. He could then say to Hogan that he had been pacing the network of tunnels the entire night, thinking. And there would be nothing to prove that he had not been doing so.

He retreated further into the tunnel and quickly changed into the captain's uniform, placing on a false mustache and pocketing a gun for good measure. Before heading down the tunnel he headed back towards the radio room, making sure that all was quiet. Satisfied, he crept back along the tunnel, climbing up the ladder and exiting via the tree stump.

Cautiously, he looked around as he climbed out, pressing himself flat against the ground as the searchlight made its sweep. Gently closing the door in the stump, he began to creep towards the direction of the woods. Once he made it into Hammelburg, he would be able to requisition (or, if it came down to it, commandeer) a staff car or some other method of transportation to get him to Düsseldorf.

A quiet voice made the corporal freeze in his tracks.

"You know, if you could dig dirt as quickly as you dig yourself into a hole, we'd have twice the number of tunnels right now."

The voice was an American one, but it was one that Newkirk had heard speaking German countless times before in order to trick their adversaries.

"Andrew…" he pleaded, as he turned to face the sergeant.

"You lied!" Carter hissed.

"I 'ad to, Andrew," Newkirk said, moving to place a hand on his younger friend's shoulder. "Andrew, please…"

"Don't 'Andrew' me!" the sergeant countered, pulling his shoulder out of the way. "I thought for sure that you'd be honest with me. Boy, was I wrong…!" He took the fake I.D. out of Newkirk's pocket. "Captain Sturm von Leonhart, huh? At least you didn't go as von Siedelberg; you'd never pass for him."

"Look, Andrew, I'll make it up to you; I swear it," Newkirk promised. "But you've got to let me go through with this; the Guv'nor 'as ordered the Düsseldorf Underground to lay low because some of them were driven away by the Stalag 6 guards earlier."

He made a grab for the I.D., but Carter pulled it out of the way.

"And whose fault is that?" the sergeant asked.

"It's me own ruddy fault; you don't 'ave to rub it in," Newkirk said, bitterly. "That's why I need to make sure that Louis is fine… or as fine as 'e can be in that kind of situation. You want to make sure that 'e's fine, too, don't you?"

"That card isn't going to work on me anymore," Carter said. "Come on; we're going back to the barracks."

Newkirk didn't move, which prompted Carter to glare at him.

"I said that we're going back to the barracks, and we're going to stay there and see what Colonel Hogan has planned," the sergeant said.

Newkirk knew when he was beaten, and he went back quietly. What stunned him the most was who had beaten him; he had never expected Carter to be the one.

_You've earned your stripes, Andrew_, he thought. _That's more than can be said for me._

Carter's expression did soften, however slightly, once they were inside the tunnel.

"Don't ever make me have to pull rank on you again," he said.

"It 'urt you as much as it did me, eh?"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Carter replied, sounding more like his normal self as a smile finally found its way to his face. "I'm not the one in trouble."

"You can say that again, Carter," a new voice replied.

Both Newkirk and Carter now froze as they saw Hogan standing before them in the tunnel, several feet ahead. His arms were folded as he stared Newkirk down; if Carter had been upset earlier, then Hogan was downright furious.

"Oh, Cor…"


	8. Never as Planned

No one said anything for a moment. The colonel's gaze bore into the corporal, who was unable to look him in the eye. Newkirk stared at a fixed point on the tunnel wall, waiting for the axe to fall.

"Colonel Hogan… Sir…?" Carter said, finally trying to break the silence. "I was outside, looking for Newkirk; I was worried that he might try something. I met him out there, and he decided that going to Stalag 6 was a bad idea after all, so he came back."

"Andrew, you don't 'ave to make me look better than I am," Newkirk said. "Truth is, Sir… Carter ordered me not to go, but I was ready to, anyway. And 'e was right upset when 'e saw me out there. I didn't come back on me own; Carter ordered me back. If not for 'im, I'd be on me way to Stalag 6 now."

"But in a different way than you were three weeks ago," Hogan finished. His voice was absolutely frigid; it was a miracle that his exhaling breath hadn't undergone condensation.

"I reckon so, Sir," Newkirk said, his voice no higher than a quiet rasp. "If… if you just give me a moment to get back into me uniform, I can go outside the wire and 'ave Klink chuck me back into the cooler."

"You'll stay right here, but don't think I'm not tempted," Hogan shot back. "Carter, get over to the radio room."

"Yes, Sir," the sergeant replied, beating a hasty retreat. He cast one last glance at Newkirk as he left, not sure of what to say. Even though he had come down hard on the Englishman, he had never intended to tell Hogan about Newkirk nearly slipping out. Newkirk was not going to get out of his hole now; Hogan might very well turn it into his metaphorical grave.

Hogan's voice had been quiet all this time, but now his anger amplified his voice as he went on addressing Newkirk, circling around him like a shark.

"Gallivanting with a girl in Hammelburg wasn't enough. Disobeying orders to go to England wasn't enough. Bringing that girl—a _spy_—into the tunnels wasn't enough. And even though we forgave you for that, you clearly have not learned your lesson. Impersonating me on the radio _and_ getting Briar Rose in trouble wasn't enough. And now, _this_!" He gestured to the captain's uniform. "How far is this going to go, Newkirk?"

"I… I don't know, Sir," the Englishman said. A deep, red flush was creeping up his face. "I'd like to say that this would've been the end of it."

"Did you honestly imagine, even in your wildest dreams, that you could go traipsing off to Düsseldorf and expect that I wouldn't find out anything about it?"

It was the word "dreams" that made Newkirk freeze; the unshakable images from the previous night had been the driving force behind his actions. Hogan would never understand; he was a man who believed in all things logical. The very notion that a dream was what spurred the corporal to impersonate the colonel and attempt to slip away to Stalag 6 was laughable—though Hogan would not find it funny in the slightest.

"Can we just skip to the court-martial, Sir?" Newkirk pleaded.

Hogan noticed the utter despondency in the Englishman's voice, but he was not going to take pity on him.

"I want some answers, Newkirk," he said. "What, in Heaven's name, possessed you to do this?"

"Well, it ain't because I'm going through a rebellious phase, if that's what's worrying you, Sir," Newkirk assured him. "I…" Oh, how to phrase this?

"Keep talking, Corporal."

"I 'ad to see Louis, Sir," the younger man replied, amazed that he was still a corporal after everything he had done; he had been certain that he was going to lose his stripes. "I 'ad to make sure that 'e was all right after Hochstetter snooped around. We don't even know if Hochstetter took Louis with 'im… or if Louis is even… if e' is even alive…"

The frown on Hogan's face deepened, but it wasn't because of his disapproval of Newkirk's reply. Newkirk always worried about the others on the team; he had been just as worried yesterday, though he hadn't been remotely rebellious until today. Something had happened.

"What's this all about?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Sir; you'd think I was completely mental."

"I think you're completely mental already for trying to pull off this hair-brained scheme; believe me, it doesn't matter what you say. Now, talk."

Newkirk swallowed hard, but then proceeded to tell Hogan about the dream. Though his voice remained steady, he noticeably shuddered as he described looking into "Hochstetter's" face and seeing his own instead.

Hogan didn't react to his words, nor did he dismiss Newkirk as crazy for being disturbed by such a vision.

"And it's coming true, ain't it?" Newkirk went on. "I've gotten Louis into more and more trouble these past couple of days."

"And how was going to Stalag 6, risking yourself _and_ the operation in the process, going to do anything to help?" Hogan asked.

"At least I'd know that 'e was alive!" Newkirk said, furious with himself. "I can't believe I've been driven mad by a ruddy dream!"

"And let me guess—you still want to go?"

"Yes, I do, Sir," Newkirk replied, glumly. "If I 'ad it to do again, I'd probably do the same thing."

"Then, go."

Newkirk now, finally, looked Hogan in the eyes, hardly daring to believe it.

"Sir, are you-?"

"Yes, I'm serious," Hogan said. "With the Underground forced to keep quiet, we don't have any other options; someone has to make contact with LeBeau, and to wait for London to send someone might take too long when we don't know Hochstetter's agenda. You'll leave as you originally planned; I'll alert a contact in Hammelburg to give you access to a staff car, and we'll cover for you during morning roll call. Let us know the situation at Stalag 6, and, if possible, see if you can somehow slip a weapon to LeBeau to help even the odds a bit.

"But under no circumstances do I want you to think that this is somehow meant to be a reward for your insistence on putting your foot into it, understood? Aside from the fact that we're out of options, it'll give me enough time to figure out what on earth to do with you."

"Yes, Sir; it's perfectly clear," Newkirk said, knowing that this was more than he could have ever expected. "Thank you, Sir."

"Don't thank me yet, Newkirk; you don't know my choice of punishment yet," Hogan countered. "Not to mention that you're putting yourself in great danger. Trust me; there's nothing to thank me for." He handed Newkirk a gun. "For LeBeau; I can assume you already have one for yourself?"

Newkirk nodded. "Anything else, Sir?"

Hogan tossed him a notepad and pen.

"Stir their commandant up a bit; if you're going as von Siedelberg's aide, tell him that you're conducting an inspection on the general's behalf. Tell him that the Russian Front is very much an option if the general isn't pleased. And hint that the general himself might be arriving personally—if he doesn't like the report."

"Right, Sir. Incidentally, _will_ the 'general' be arriving?"

"How would I know? I'm still trying to figure out the extent of the damage you caused!"

Newkirk flinched, but he didn't say anything; he deserved that.

"I'll have sorted out everything as best as I can by the time you get back," said Hogan. His tone darkened. "That includes your punishment."

"I understand, Sir," Newkirk said. "I just want you to know, Sir… While I do regret the trouble I've caused, I'll never regret trying to 'elp Louis."

"Save it for your disciplinary hearing," Hogan said. He checked his watch; after the time it would take to get the staff car and make it to Stalag 6, checkpoints included, it would probably be midmorning. "When you get back, hide the staff car in the woods and report to me immediately."

"Right, Sir."

"And Newkirk?"

"Sir?"

"Remember—you're only there to check on LeBeau and give him the gun," Hogan said, icily. "If I hear that you even _tried_ to sneak him out of there, then _you_ will be out of _here_."

"I understand, Sir," Newkirk said. "I'll follow orders, though I know it'll be 'ard for you to believe."

"Try 'near impossible,'" Hogan retorted. "Get going."

Newkirk turned and sped out of the tunnel, still trying to grasp the fact that he had obtained Hogan's approval of going to Stalag 6. Granted, it was only after he had closed off all of their other options, but he would soon get his wish of helping his friend… assuming he didn't royally mess this up, too. And with his recent track record, the Englishman was suddenly having his doubts about the success of this venture.

* * *

Morning crept over Germany. Hogan and the others didn't have to go through much trouble to cover up the Englishman's absence; Schultz barely noticed, and when he finally did, he resolved to "see nothing" for the umpteenth time.

Newkirk himself was still on the road to Stalag 6 once dawn broke; the checkpoints were numerous, and despite the fact that his papers and identification were all in order, red tape still slowed him down considerably.

Red tape had also slowed down the courier, who had been sent by Backsheider. But it was he who arrived at Stalag 6 ahead of Newkirk, and presented the package to a smug Mullenberg.

LeBeau, who was cleaning up after breakfast, saw the courier present it to Mullenberg, as did Vulsor, who watched him drive in. The both of them were soon summoned to the commandant's office. A number of guards, along with colonel's secretary and his personal doctor, were waiting for them. The doctor had a bottle and syringe in his hand, unsure of how much to give to the corporal.

"Sit down, Corporal LeBeau," Mullenberg said. "And tell me once again… do you know anything of the goings-on at Stalag 13?"

A guard forced LeBeau into the chair.

"I will not talk," he vowed. "I know my rights as a prisoner of war; I also know that it is against the Geneva Convention to use that truth serum."

Mullenberg did not look surprised that LeBeau knew exactly what the serum was.

"I told you the first day you arrived here, Corporal; this is not Stalag 13. Klink may be eager to follow the Geneva Convention, but I am not."

"Just remember that after the war, when they try you for war crimes," Vulsor reminded him.

"One more outburst from you, and you will be forced to leave," Mullenberg snapped. "I only invited you here since this was your dear mother's research."

He gave a nod to the guards, who bared LeBeau's sleeve and held him still. He cursed them angrily in his own tongue as the doctor stepped forward.

"We do not know the strength, _Herr Kommandant_; I shall play it safe and start with a small dose_._"

"Proceed."

Although LeBeau strained against his captors, avoiding his fate was impossible. He began to feel dizzy as the injection was administered to him. He shut his eyes, half of him pleading for the escape of unconsciousness while the other half knew that if he did fall unconscious, there would be no telling what would come out of his mouth.

"Give him a moment," he heard the doctor say, though the man's voice seemed to come from far away.

"_Gut_. Take down everything he says."

With a groan, LeBeau slumped forward in the chair, the darkness closing in around him.

Vulsor stared, frozen; he had been hoping, by some miracle, that LeBeau could resist the serum. With the corporal now at the mercy of the serum, he could only hope that it did not work—or that the dose was too small.

"Corporal LeBeau," Mullenberg said. "You remember your friends in Stalag 13, do you not?"

"_Mes amis…_" the corporal repeated. "Stalag 13…"

"_Ja_, that is correct," the colonel went on. "What do you and your friends know about the operation at Stalag 13? Is there a processing center for escaped prisoners, and do the men in Stalag 13 also commit acts of sabotage and espionage?"

"_Quand nous sommes arrivés, nous ne savions pas…_" LeBeau began.

Vulsor had to hide a smirk as Mullenberg stared at the Frenchman with an unreadable expression.

"Talk in a language I can understand, you fool!" He furiously turned to his perplexed secretary. "Get all of this down; we can send it to a translator afterward!"

"But, _Herr Kommandant_, I do not know French!" she protested. "I do not know the proper way to spell the words!"

Mullenberg cursed loudly before turning back to LeBeau.

"Corporal!"

"_Quoi…?_"

"Can't you speak in German, if you possibly know it?" Mullenberg asked. He hoped that if the corporal was a part of some underground organization, he might speak in German, which he would be required to learn in order to operate.

"German…" LeBeau repeated, derisively. He began to murmur own tongue again, cursing the ones who shot him down at Salon and cursing his captors, as well, including Mullenberg.

"Forget German!" the colonel spat. "Speak English! _English_!"

LeBeau's expression changed as the word "English" served as another mental cue.

"Pierre…"

Mullenberg calmed down; at last, he was getting somewhere!

"Pierre who?" he asked. "Is he at Stalag 13? What does he do?"

"…Insult my cooking…"

Mullenberg had been restraining himself all this time, but now he finally slapped his own forehead in utter frustration.

"The underground organization at Stalag 13—who is a part of it?" he demanded. "How do they get escaped prisoners of war out of Germany?"

But LeBeau just mumbled something else about Newkirk.

"Give him another dose!" he said, turning to the doctor. "Clearly, this much is not enough!"

"At-at once, _Herr Kommandant_," the flustered man replied, moving to get another syringe.

He paused as there was a knock on the office door; it was another guard.

"_Herr Kommandant_!" he cried, in a frantic voice.

"What is the meaning this?" Mullenberg demanded, letting him in. "I gave strict orders that we were not to be disturbed!"

"I am most sorry, _Herr Kommandant_, but a captain has came through the front gates nearly ten minutes ago; he is here to conduct a surprise inspection on the behalf of General von Siedelberg!"

"A mere captain? Well, you can tell him…" He trailed off, the name sinking in. "Von Siedelberg!"

The name sunk in for LeBeau, also, though everyone was too distracted to hear the Frenchman's quiet murmur of "André…"

"Where is this captain now?" the colonel asked, not even realizing that LeBeau had just revealed the true identity of "von Siedelberg."

"In the outer office, _Herr Kommandant_, taking notes and wondering why no one is where they are supposed to be," the guard said.

"Take him…!" Mullenberg ordered, pulling the unconscious corporal from the chair and thrusting him into the arms of one of the guards. "Go through my quarters and put him in the kitchen. Administer some smelling salts; do whatever you must to wake him up and have him start preparing lunch—for myself and the captain! _Schnell_!"

The guard saluted, taking LeBeau out through the assigned door.

"And you…!" Mullenberg fumed, as he turned to Vulsor. "You will get back to the barracks as soon as the captain makes himself comfortable; have your men clean up!"

The American grunted in reply as Mullenberg opened the door.

"_Wilkommen, Herr Hauptmann_," he said, gesturing for the corporal-turned-captain to enter.

Never would he have guessed that the man he was welcoming was the "Pierre" that LeBeau had mentioned only minutes ago. And Newkirk was hoping he could keep it that way.


	9. Such a Loud Silence

_Author's notes: Here is where the significance of the fic title finally begins to come into play. I'm not trying to imply any sort of supernatural/telepathic thing going on; rather, I believe that after knowing each other for so long and being in situations where they would not be able to talk, LeBeau and Newkirk would be pretty fluent in nonverbal communication._

* * *

Newkirk put on a look of disapproval as he entered Mullenberg's office. Major Vulsor cast Newkirk a disapproving look of his own; his disguise was convincing enough to fool the American, who slipped out to his barracks.

"_General von Siedelberg will not be pleased to hear of how you have been running things_," Newkirk said, in German. The less he spoke in English, the better it would be. "_Did you have authorization to interrogate prisoners in such a manner?_"

"_Of course I did_," Mullenberg lied, but speaking as though he felt insulted. "_Do you think I would dare to do so otherwise?_"

Newkirk didn't answer, picking up the small bottle of serum from the table, trying to read the indecipherable list of ingredients. Though he remained outwardly calm, his blood boiled as he thought of LeBeau having information pried out of him like this. Considering that what he had to let slip would mean the deaths of all of them, it was all Newkirk could do to stop himself from going against Hogan's orders and sneaking the Frenchman out. Even if it could be considered extenuating circumstances, Hogan's fury would know no bounds if Newkirk went against his orders yet again.

_Blimey, what now? I'm dead if I get Louis out, and dead if that ruddy drug makes him talk. But more than that, Louis is dead, too._

He would have to get back to Hogan and tell him what was going on; the sad fact of the matter was that he could not handle this on his own, in spite of however much he wanted to believe he could. He would find some way to ruin it, just as he had managed to ruin everything else.

Mullenberg suddenly pulled the bottle of serum from Newkirk's hand, bringing him to reality. The Englishman quickly picked up where he had left off.

"_There seems to be quite a bit of funny business going on around here_," Newkirk said. "_Even more so than Stalag 13. I think the general himself might like to take a look here; he hasn't forgotten your embarrassing mass escape._"

"_There is no need to get the general involved, surely. And we have taken extra precautions to ensure that there are no more escapes; we have combed the entire compound for tunnels and have doubled the guard at the wire._"

"_A good start_," Newkirk replied. "_But pardon my impudence, Colonel, when I say that it is not up to me; the general must be satisfied. By your permission, Colonel, I would like to continue with my inspection._"

"_Please, go right ahead; you can inspect every in of this camp. After you are finished, I do hope that you can join me for lunch; I have a most marvelous chef._"

"_And do you think he will be as good a chef after being drugged?_" Newkirk asked, sounding a lot colder than he had intended. "_Ah, forgive me, Colonel; it is not my place to question your decisions. Hopefully, the general will approve._"

He saluted Mullenberg, who returned the salute. Newkirk was pleased to see that the colonel was in a state of discomfiture. He had successfully stirred him up, as Hogan had ordered.

Newkirk decided that he could best pull this off by making surprise inspections on a few of the barracks, and then seeing LeBeau in the kitchen. Hopefully, no one would be there, but he could easily slip the weapon to LeBeau without anyone realizing it.

Among the barracks that Newkirk visited was the one where LeBeau stayed. He nearly dropped his cover for a moment when he saw the familiar sight of LeBeau's red scarf draped over one of the bunks.

He took a step towards it, but then he paused as a voice behind him cleared his throat.

Newkirk turned to see the American major he had seen earlier in Mullenberg's office glaring at him.

"May I help you, Captain?" Vulsor asked.

"_Ja_, you can tell your men to store their personal effects neatly," Newkirk retorted, indicating the scarf. "I would expect that you would maintain some level of discipline while you were here!"

Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to continue his "inspection," aware of the American's eyes piercing into him.

_You're lucky I'm really on your side_, Newkirk mentally sneered. He began to wish that his rank was higher; he would be able better intimidate everyone as a colonel, rather than a captain. _Cor, I'm waiting for the day they'll let me go as a general…_

As he made his round, only half of his mind was focus on taking down notes. The other half of him was trying to figure out what to say to Hogan.

He supposed he should be lucky that Hogan was, the only commanding officer he had ever been allowed to question the actions of and argue with. His old squadron leader in the RAF would have disciplined him for even suggesting that he had the wrong idea.

"_Is everything in order, Captain_?" one of the guards asked, pulling Newkirk from his reverie.

"_I am afraid not_," Newkirk responded. "_There seems to be a man unaccounted for in one of the barracks_."

"_That would be the French corporal, Captain; he is preparing the lunch you shall soon partake in._"

"_If you please, I shall inspect the kitchen to make sure he is there_."

"_I assure you, Captain, he has a guard watching him. Colonel Mullenberg has ordered that no one enter the kitchen._"

"_Colonel_ _Mullenberg has given me full access to the anywhere I wish to inspect!_" Newkirk retorted.

Without waiting for a reply, he headed through a direct entrance into Mullenberg's personal quarters. His nose guided him to the kitchen, where the guard in the kitchen saluted him. Newkirk half-heartedly returned the salute as he noticed LeBeau standing over the cooking food, still woozy from the aftereffects of the serum.

"_Sie sind Corporal LeBeau_?" Newkirk asked, pretending to check the roster.

LeBeau, who had been so much out of it that he hadn't even noticed Newkirk's entrance, froze at the sound of his friend's voice. The Frenchman turned, his bleary eyes looking Newkirk up and down for a split second. He then proceeded to blink a few times to make sure that what he was seeing wasn't a hallucination induced by the serum.

"Are you Corporal LeBeau? Answer, _schnell_!"

"_Oui, Capitaine_," LeBeau answered. His voice was still slightly slurred, something which disgusted the Englishman. They had to get him out of here!

"_Well, then, it seems as though all are present_," said Newkirk. "_General von Siedelberg will be pleased to see that _something_ is going right here._" He pretended to survey LeBeau. "_Not much of a specimen, though, is he?_"

He slapped LeBeau on the arm, making it look a lot harsher than it really was.

"Stand at attention when I address you!" he barked. He then gently thumped him on the chest. "Chest out, stomach in!"

"_Oui, Capitaine!_"

"Keep your feet together, and look straight ahead!" Newkirk went on, continuing to gently—but convincingly—push him around. There was a method to this madness; he had successfully transferred the gun Hogan had given him to LeBeau's pocket.

LeBeau did not react; being medicated from the serum's aftereffects helped somewhat. But he was aware of the exchange, and was wondering why Newkirk had come when Hogan had said it would have been too risky for one of them to infiltrate Stalag 6 like this.

_Pierre, what are you doing? Can you get me out—and the others, as well?_ he silently transmitted. He marveled at the fact that someone had come; he had been praying for help, and lo, Newkirk had arrived.

"There," said Newkirk, after LeBeau as standing at attention. "Now you look more like a soldier, though that apron still makes you look like a scullery maid!"

His vibes were broadcasting another signal altogether.

_Just hang on for a little longer, Louis. I don't know how, but I'm going to get you out of this ruddy place. I promised that I would, and when Peter Newkirk makes a promise, he doesn't break it_.

"What is going on here?" Mullenberg asked, coming in. "I heard the shouting. Is everything in order?"

"You entrust a prisoner to cook your meals, _Herr Oberst_?" Newkirk asked, speaking in English on the pretext of talking so that LeBeau could understand.

"As you can see for yourself, he is under constant observation. Furthermore, he tastes the food in the presence of a guard or myself."

"It is still a highly irregular policy," Newkirk said.

Mullenberg was about to say that it was the same chef who had been cooking for Klink, but decided against it, recalling Hochstetter's words about von Siedelberg's dislike of transfers.

"I assure you, _Capitaine_, you shall find my bouillabaisse quite delectable—and not the least bit poisonous," LeBeau said, with a smirk on his face.

Newkirk had to force himself not to wince. _That ruddy fish stew again? Cor Blimey, I can't escape from it!_

LeBeau sent him another silent message.

_I'll make it up to you, Pierre; when I see you after the war, I will make you a Yorkshire pudding, even if it the very thought makes me ill_.

"Corporal, how long do you expect lunch to take?" Mullenberg asked.

"Another twenty minutes, _Colonel_," LeBeau replied.

"Good; we shall wait at the table and talk. Come, Captain," he said, leading Newkirk out.

The Englishman gave LeBeau a calculating glare as he exited; at least, that's what it seemed like to the others. In reality, it was a promise to see him later.

* * *

Newkirk was able to stomach the bouillabaisse for once; perhaps it was the work of his nerves.

"A most flavorful dish," he commented, as LeBeau brought out bread for him and Mullenberg. _Well, I never said if the ruddy flavor was a _good_ one_.

LeBeau knew his friend's cryptic words all too well.

"You flatter me, _Capitaine._" _I know you are swallowing your pride along with the bouillabaisse._

"_Entschuldigung, Herr Kommandant_," said the secretary, entering the room.

"Yes, yes? What is it? I am busy!"

"Major Hochstetter asked me to relay a message to you," she said, handing him what Hochstetter had dictated to her.

"I see…" Mullenberg murmured. "He is returning here tomorrow, after he ties up some loose ends on another case."

"What?" Newkirk asked, without thinking, as LeBeau paled. The Englishman picked up his poise in an instant, pulling out his notepad and pen. "Do you mean to tell me that the major has you under investigation?"

"Of course not!" Mullenberg retorted, indignantly. "He is coming to interrogate the eight men in the cooler!"

Newkirk responded with a grunt, putting the notepad away. For an instant, LeBeau caught his eye to send yet another silent message.

_Wonderful recovery, _mon ami_. Now, get me out of here!_

Newkirk's heart sunk as he read the desperation in LeBeau's eyes.

_Hogan says I have to go back alone and report to him. He said I couldn't get you out until it was time. I've royally ruined things, Louis; Hogan doesn't trust me anymore. You don't know how much of a relief it is that you still do_.

The despair in Newkirk's eyes was hidden, but not beyond LeBeau's sight. Newkirk could not get him out at the present moment, even though he clearly wanted to.

_What am I to do? They will likely increase the dosage of the serum once you have gone. What if I talk? With Hochstetter coming tomorrow, Mullenberg will want to hand over any information he can get from me!_

"I still say that there is some very strange business going on here," Newkirk said, glancing back at the colonel. "Save some time on your schedule tomorrow for meeting with the general, as well."

Mullenberg paled. "You mean…?"

"I am saying nothing; the decision is up to the general." _And the Guv'nor, too_.

He rose to his feet.

"Must you go now, Captain?" the colonel asked.

_Yes, must you?_ LeBeau mentally echoed.

"Yes, I think General von Siedelberg should hear about Hochstetter poking his nose around again; he already has a low opinion of him due to his recent antics at Stalag 13," Newkirk replied. "But, as I said, I cannot speak for the general. We shall have to wait and see what he says."

It was an unspoken promise to return for his friend—a promise LeBeau understood. The Frenchman glanced at the floor for a moment. Only a miracle could get him and the other eight men out safely now, but between Newkirk and Major Vulsor, perhaps there would be one. But that all depended on Newkirk returning in time.

"By your leave, _Herr Oberst_," said Newkirk, saluting him.

Mullenberg returned the salute, and then proceeded to massage his forehead as the Englishman left.

"Pour me some wine, Corporal," he said, holding up his glass. "And do not think that I am finished with you yet; after lunch, your questioning will continue."

Newkirk heard this as he retreated, but knew he was powerless to do anything about it. Hoping that, somehow, LeBeau would be able to hold out until he returned, Newkirk headed back to the staff car and drove back towards Stalag 13 as quickly as the red tape would allow.

LeBeau was not as lucky, of course. There was enough lunch left over to provide a full dinner for Mullenberg; the colonel instructed the corporal to keep the food warm and then report, once again, to his office for questioning later that afternoon.

This time, Mullenberg was armed with a tape recorder, a German-to-French dictionary, and a stronger dosage of serum; Vulsor was absent, this time. LeBeau stared at the tape recorder, wondering how on earth he could get out of this. There was a slim chance that Newkirk could return in time to purloin the tape before Mullenberg had a chance to turn over to Hochstetter. For a second, LeBeau contemplated using the gun, but the idea fell apart as he realized that the guards outnumbered him, and would shoot before he even had a chance to do so.

The guards went through the process of retraining LeBeau in the chair while the doctor administered the serum. The corporal slipped into the drug-induced unconsciousness for a second time that day.

"Now, then, Corporal," said Mullenberg. "There is an underground organization at Stalag 13, isn't there? They help people escape, do they not? Who is involved in getting these people out?"

"Getting out…?" LeBeau repeated. He let out a derisive chuckle. "No one ever escapes from Stalag 13… _Jour après jour_, we hear the same thing…"

"But people come in, and then they escape, do they not?" Mullenberg prodded.

"_J'ai toujours voulu rentrer à la maison_ …" He trailed off, a wistful smile forming on his face. "_Mon Paris_…"

"Yes, yes?" Mullenberg asked.

"_Herr Kommandant_, he was only saying about how he longed to escape and return to Paris," a guard said, thumbing through the dictionary.

"In the past tense?" Mullenberg asked, intrigued. "Interesting, Corporal… But why would you wish to stay in Stalag 13? Were you part of an underground organization? What made you stay?"

"_Mes amis_," LeBeau responded, immediately. "_Je ne pouvais pas abandonner mes amis! __Jamais!_"

"Never abandon your friends?" Mullenberg scoffed, after receiving the translation. "You told me only the other day that you were a loner! See how the truth finally emerges! And what makes these friends so important? What do you do? Tell me!"

"_Il n'a plus d'importance_," LeBeau replied, despondently. "_Je ne suis plus avec eux_."

"But it _does_ matter, Corporal," Mullenberg said. "It matters very much to me!"

But LeBeau was in another world altogether.

"_Je voudrais que _Pierre_ pourrait être ici_," he mumbled. "_Je sais qu'il a de bonnes raisons pour ce qu'il a fait, mais il serait tellement plus supportable avec lui ici_."

"Again with this Pierre?" Mullenberg asked, grabbing the dictionary from the guard and looking up the key words. "You wish for him to be here? He had good reasons for what he did? What did he have reasons for? What did he do?"

LeBeau chuckled, and answered, in English, "I really do not know where to begin."

Mullenberg growled in frustration. Even though the stronger dose of serum was making LeBeau far more talkative than before, they were still so very far from where he wanted to be.

* * *

Newkirk had thrown off the Captain's uniform as soon as he had reached the tunnels. Hastily pulling on his RAF uniform, he raced back up to the barracks, where the others were just finishing up dinner.

"Newkirk!" Olsen exclaimed, being the first to notice him.

Carter looked in the Englishman's direction, his eyes revealing the barrage of questions he had for his friend, as well as what seemed to be hot news. Before he could even get to a single one of them, however, Hogan entered the room from his office, silently demanding the corporal's report.

The colonel frowned upon seeing the solemn expression on Newkirk's face. And then worry set in; the pain in Newkirk's eyes was greater than before he had left.

"Dead…?" Hogan asked, assuming the worst. There would have been no reason for Mullenberg to have LeBeau killed, unless an escape attempt had gone horribly wrong, or, as Newkirk had feared, Hochstetter had recognized him. And the latter was all too likely.

"Not yet, Sir," Newkirk responded, quietly. "But unless we do something immediately, 'e might very well be—and we'll be next."


	10. The World Isn't On My Side

Hogan glared at Newkirk again, this time in shock rather than anger.

"Explain," he said quietly, but firmly.

It didn't take Newkirk long to get everyone concerned once he started mentioning about the serum and Hochstetter's return.

"I gave Louis the gun, but I know it's not enough. 'E was silently pleading for 'elp, Sir; I wanted to get 'im out of there. I could've done it, too, but you said-"

"Yeah, I know what I said," Hogan replied, silently cursing himself for issuing such an order.

"You thought you were playing it safe, Sir," Kinch said, immediately coming to Hogan's defense. "You couldn't have known."

_Yeah, and I also couldn't have known that the one time Newkirk probably should have disobeyed orders, he wouldn't have out of fear_, the colonel thought.

"What I don't understand is why 'ochstetter would come back so soon," Newkirk went on. "We'd only just gotten over 'is first visit."

"I think we can answer that," said Carter. He wasn't smiling now; his optimism had faded after hearing Newkirk's story. "Remember how we found out yesterday that Burkhalter was on furlough? It turns out he's coming back tomorrow evening, according to Klink."

"So that's it," Newkirk realized. "Old 'ochstetter knows Burkhalter would forbid him from interrogating the escapees, so 'e wants to do it before the general gets back." He cursed the major.

"And to think, they're supposed to be on the same side," Baker mused.

"It's all one ruddy big poker game," Newkirk said, with a shake of his head. "And they don't want to show each other their 'ands."

"Yeah, it's a poker game, alright," Hogan said. "And Mullenberg just upped the ante with that truth serum."

"Then what card do _we_ play, so to speak?" Kinch asked.

Hogan pondered for a moment. So many lives were riding on his decision, he knew. He had to make the right one.

"We do what we do best—we bluff," he decided. His gaze fell on the technical sergeant. "Carter, you're going in as von Siedelberg. Normally, I don't like the idea of reusing disguises, but our options are limited."

"Yes, Sir," Carter said, going slightly pale. He had not wanted to reuse the disguise, either, but he would follow the colonel's orders. "When do I leave?"

"You'll leave a few hours after lights out," said Hogan, checking his watch. "I'd say get going at 0100 hours. We're going to have a tough time explaining two people missing during morning roll call, but I don't see any other option."

"Two people, Sir?" Newkirk asked.

"Of course. You don't think the general will return to Stalag 6 without his trusty aide in tow, do you?"

Newkirk's jaw fell open slightly. "But… Sir, you said… me punishment…"

"Your punishment will still be here when LeBeau is off on his journey to London," Hogan assured him. "Call it a temporary reprieve for sticking to my orders—even though you had every right to break them this time. Now, you two listen closely; you're going in the staff car again, but in the woods about an hour from Stalag 6 will be two of Briar Rose's men with a truck full of civilian uniforms; I'll have arranged for it be there by the time you two arrive. Make contact with the driver, give him a pass from von Siedelberg, and instruct him to drive behind you through the gate of Stalag; the other one will act as a guard for the prisoners. Carter, you will tell Mullenberg that you are going to take the eight escapees for personal questioning, since you don't approve of Hochstetter doing so. And once you 'discover' that LeBeau is a transferee, insist that you take him along, too. I want you to be as cold and as intimidating as you can be, understood? Scare them into agreeing with you."

"And then we lead the escapees all into the truck and on their way to freedom?" Carter finished.

Hogan nodded. "It's a crazy plan, but it's just crazy enough to work if we play our cards right."

"More than ever, I wish I 'ad a pair of aces up me sleeve," Newkirk responded.

"Newkirk, it's thanks to you that we know the score," said Kinch. "I'd say that's more valuable than a spare pair of aces."

"You mean that?" the Englishman said, surprised to hear such praise from him after all that he had done to foul up the mission.

"Yeah, I do," the staff sergeant replied. "Fate plays funny tricks. If you hadn't caused Briar Rose to lay low, one of them would have gone in your place. They don't know LeBeau as well as you do; whoever would have gone wouldn't have noticed the effects of the serum as you did, even if they had been lucky to see him. They might not have even had a chance to see the vial. And they may not have stayed long enough to hear about Hochstetter coming back."

"I should've nicked that ruddy vial," the corporal chided himself. "That could've bought us a little more time."

"We'd have had to get Louis and the others out of there anyway," Carter said. "Sooner's better than later, right?"

"Too right, it is," the Englishman said. He clambered up to his bunk, not intending to sleep; if he _could_ fall asleep, it would be nothing short of a miracle. There was nothing more taxing, he realized, than playing the waiting game at such a critical juncture.

He spent some time recalling what he had told Hogan the previous night. _If I had it to do again, I'd probably do the same thing_.

Newkirk stared blankly at the ceiling as he realized that he had been wrong; he _would_ have changed so many things. He would not have gone by that little bar. He would not have flirted with Gretel. And he certainly would not have brought her in through the tunnels.

But no; he had to let his heart think instead of his brain. A narrow escape had been followed by his best friend being taken away and now being drugged up with truth serum. If the worst should happen, Newkirk decided, he would see to it that Hogan, Carter, Kinch, Baker, and Olsen made it out. Whatever happened to him in that process would be solely what he deserved.

_You can't think like that_, he chided himself. _You're getting Louis out of there tomorrow, just as you've wanted. Give him some credit for being stronger than Mullenberg thinks. Take a lesson from Andrew; try being optimistic for a change._

Newkirk scoffed at his own mind in response. He had never been optimistic, and the situation wasn't one where he could easily start a new trend.

Schultz's arrival temporarily drew the corporal out of his thoughts as the big man addressed him, relieved to see him back in his place.

"Where were you during morning roll call? Never mind; I do not want to know."

"I reckon you don't," Newkirk replied. He idly wondered how Schultz would react if he found out what was happening to LeBeau right now. Naturally, the guard would be concerned about LeBeau revealing his tendency to look the other way, but Schultz would have genuine concern for the Frenchman, as well.

He sighed, staring at the ceiling again as Schultz ordered the lights out.

"See you tomorrow, Schultzie," Newkirk said, as the sergeant exited. _I hope_.

He proceeded to play the waiting game for the next couple of hours, keeping his mind blank. It was only after Hogan gave him and Carter the go-ahead that Newkirk finally ended his long staring match with the ceiling.

The two had changed into their disguises and had bolted out the tunnel. Though the checkpoints were surprised to see Newkirk return so soon, they soon let him go upon seeing "General von Siedelburg" in the car, as well.

They made contact with the truck driver and the false guard around midmorning.

"Briar Rose received instructions from Papa Bear; I am at your complete disposal," the driver said. "However, the usual escape paths to London are impossible for us to use; Hochstetter has his men covering the south border for Burkhalter's arrival."

"Can't you just head west through Belgium and get them out that way?" Carter asked, exchanging a glance with Newkirk.

"Hochstetter has the road to the Belgian border covered, as well," said the fake guard. "He expects that the fliers might try another escape attempt, and that they would logically head in that direction. He arrived at Stalag 6 about an hour ago; he has his plan in motion."

"You mean 'e's at the camp now?" Newkirk asked. _That's it. We've lost_.

Carter bit his lip at the look on Newkirk's face. _It's not over yet, Peter; I'm not giving up as long as there's still a fighting chance for Louis!_

"I will still bring the truck inside after you, as Papa Bear requested," said the driver. "But the escape route shall have to be a roundabout route through France and rendezvous with a British submarine near Calais that will take them across the channel." He shrugged. "I'm going to have to hand over all responsibilities to the French Underground once we make contact with them. Briar Rose has already contact Tiger; she is planning the second half of the escapees' journey as we speak."

"Louis will never complain about that," Newkirk said, with a wan smile. "Now I know why the Guv'nor admires Tiger so much… besides the obvious reasons, of course…"

Carter did crack a smile, but he soon sobered as he spoke again.

"We'd better not waste any more time; we've still got one more hour to go."

"Right," said Newkirk, getting back into the driver's seat. _We're coming, Louis. Just hold out for a little while longer_.

* * *

But LeBeau was thinking otherwise as he found himself preparing breakfast for Mullenberg and Hochstetter. He remembered coming to in Mullenberg's office after the serum had worn off. Mullenberg had seemed frustrated; LeBeau was hoping that it was some sort of sign that he hadn't talked. Also, Mullenberg was acting somewhat nervous around Hochstetter—another sign that he did not have the information he desired. Vulsor regretted not being able to offer any insight on what LeBeau had said while under the serum's influence.

This was not going to be the end. LeBeau knew without asking that as soon as Hochstetter headed down to the cooler, Mullenberg would try the serum one more time.

"So, you say von Siedelberg might be coming?" Hochstetter asked, finishing up his breakfast. "I hope to be gone before he arrives. With your permission, Colonel, I would like to head over to the cooler now and interrogate the prisoners."

"By all means, _Herr Major_, they are yours to question," Mullenberg replied. He sighed as Hochstetter gave a nod of approval and left. "Corporal, bring me some wine!"

"Is it not a little early?" LeBeau asked, opening the door to the dining area after he was certain Hochstetter had left the room.

"Between the major carrying on his own interrogations and my own attempts to get some coherent answers from you, I deserve to drink the full bottle right now!" the colonel retorted.

"I have nothing to say; I would hope that two obviously failed sessions with that serum would suggest that," LeBeau countered. "I—"

"Colonel, could you confirm with your guards that you have given me access to the…" Hochstetter began as he reentered the room. He soon trailed off as his eyes met the Frenchman's.

LeBeau's expression was one of pure horror as he dove back into the kitchen. The major's loud voice soon filled the entire dining area.

"What is this chef doing here?" he demanded. "Mullenberg, what is going on?"

"He is on loan, _Herr Major_, from Stalag 13," the colonel replied, realizing that the cat was out of the bag. "I asked Colonel Klink to let this man cook for me-"

"That man is a part of Colonel Hogan's inner circle; he is one of the prime suspects in all of the enemy activity going on near Stalag 13!"

_I cannot handle this on my own_, LeBeau thought. _Pierre, wherever you are, please hurry!_

"Tell me, Mullenberg," Hochstetter went on, the sinister air in his voice increasing with every word. "What _else_ have you been keeping from me?"

"Nothing, _Herr Major_, nothing," Mullenberg insisted, melting under the major's glare as Klink had done several times before. "I had him transferred a few days ago to cook my meals, but I suspected, as you have just said, that he might be involved in some of the activities going on near Stalag 13. I questioned him, but he was uncooperative, so…" He trailed off, realizing that he had just dug himself into a deeper hole. "I questioned him yesterday with a truth serum, but the results were not as I had hoped."

"Truth serum!" Hochstetter repeated. "You would go behind my back to interrogate this corporal? Which traitor gave you access to a truth serum?"

A sly smirk crossed Mullenberg's face for an instant.

"I received it directly from Colonel Backsheider, _Herr Major_. Here is the slip from the courier."

"Oh." The anger faded from Hochstetter in an instant as he saw Backsheider's signature on the slip. "_Ja_, this signature is genuine. Fine then, Mullenberg; I shall overlook it this time. However, you will hand over the serum to me now; I shall continue with the questioning of the corporal."

"If I may give you a word of advice, _Herr Major_," said Mullenberg. "I recommend a German-to-French translator and a tape recorder."

Hochstetter gave him a long stare.

"If I may give _you_ a word of advice, Mullenberg… stay out of it!"

"Of course, Major…"

The kitchen door opened, admitting Hochstetter. The major smiled smugly at the captive chef.

"Corporal LeBeau," he mused. "Such a small world, _ja_? I did not expect to see you here, away from Stalag 13… away from Colonel Hogan's wit and Klink's general incompetence."

The Frenchman, though backing up against the counter, determinedly stared back at the major.

"If you are looking for signs of sabotage or espionage, you shall find none," LeBeau assured him. "I was brought here to cook, and no one has ever complained." He suddenly recalled the sleeping pills hidden under his collar. "May I offer you some more coffee?"

"Bah!" Hochstetter snarled. "If you want to be helpful, you will tell me everything I wish to know about Stalag 13!"

"What is there to know?" LeBeau asked, acting much calmer than he felt. "There was never any chance of an escape in Stalag 13. At least here, there is a record which I find hopeful."

Hochstetter shot a dark glare at Mullenberg before turning back to the Frenchman.

"The game of cat and mouse shall soon end, Corporal," Hochstetter promised. "Colonel Hogan is not here to protect you; you have no one to turn to. Will you tell me what I wish to know now, or shall I resort to the truth serum?"

"Louis LeBeau, Corporal, serial number H214-"

"Enough!" Hochstetter said, cutting him off. "Corporal, you do not seem to understand your position. Do you really wish to be a prisoner of war until the fighting ends? You are on the losing side. …Do not scoff at me, Corporal! Your beloved France fell; your uniform is that of an army which no longer exists!"

LeBeau's hand almost reached for the gun that Newkirk had given him, but he stopped himself, swallowing the mounting rage.

"Complying with the questioning now could mean a lesser sentence for you later," Hochstetter went on. "I could send you back to Paris, perhaps introduce you to a nice girl—"

"There is nothing for me to say," LeBeau insisted. "But even if there was, I would not fall for that line."

Hochstetter's patience never _grew_ thin; it had been _made_ thin. And now it snapped.

"Take him to Mullenberg's office!" he ordered the guard. "I will use the serum! Mullenberg, you come with me; I shall want a witness!"

As he followed Hochstetter and Mullenberg out of the kitchen and to the colonel's office, LeBeau contemplated using the gun in his pocket again, but for a different reason. The risks involved with allowing the major to question him with the serum were too great, but using the gun on Hochstetter might save the lives of his friends… though a swift execution would be inevitable after committing the deed.

…But there was still one light of hope in his mind: Newkirk was coming. He knew of the urgency involved. He might yet find a way to save the Frenchman from Hochstetter.

_Dare I gamble on Pierre, or dare I kill Hochstetter now and ensure my own death?_

LeBeau shut his eyes, weighing his two options—a chance of death versus the utmost certainty of it. His thoughts then turned to Newkirk, perhaps on his way here right now, not even sure if he was too late and arriving to his own end.

Slowly, LeBeau pulled his hand away from his pocket, leaving the gun there as the guard forced him along. He would take his chances with Newkirk; betting on him had always come through in the past. He could only pray that today would be no different.


	11. The Great Pretenders

LeBeau knew by now that struggling against the guard restraining him was fruitless, but even he had to consider it after glancing at the look on Hochstetter's face as he held the syringe in his hand, holding a slightly stronger dose than the corporal had received the previous evening.

"_Herr Major_, shouldn't we summon the doctor to administer the serum?" Mullenberg offered.

"Silence!" Hochstetter barked. "I know what I am doing; I have supervised the usage of sodium pentothal before!"

Neither Mullenberg nor LeBeau were willing to point out that what Hochstetter held in his hand was not sodium pentothal.

LeBeau looked away as the serum was administered to him. Once again, it lulled him to an unwanted sleep.

"The time for charades is over, Corporal LeBeau," Hochstetter said, triumphantly. "You will now tell me _everything_, from the beginning."

"I was… born in Èpernay—"

"Not _that_ far back, _Dummkopf_! I want to know about what happened from when you first arrived at Stalag 13!"

"I met Pierre," LeBeau replied, as though he was stating the obvious.

"Colonel Hogan—I want to know about Colonel Hogan!" Hochstetter snarled. "Tell me—_schnell_!"

"_Oui_; Pierre and I met him, also, but much, much later."

Hochstetter gritted his teeth in frustration

"You see, Herr Major, this is exactly the sort of problem I've been facing," said Mullenberg. "You ask him a direct question about Stalag 13, and he will not give a straight answer; he keeps bringing up this 'Pierre' fellow. The serum is experimental; perhaps it is flawed."

"Or perhaps we are not giving this Frenchman enough credit for his mental prowess," Hochstetter said, narrowing his eyes. "If Colonel Hogan is in charge of a covert operation, then it stands to reason his men would be mentally trained in case of an event like this. I do not know how, Mullenberg, but somehow, this chef has been resisting the serum."

"Perhaps he might be more direct if you gave a stronger dose?"

"Don't think that I am not tempted," Hochstetter replied. "But I need him alive until he talks, and I have already given him quite a large dose of serum. This 'Pierre' he keeps mentioning… I have an idea as to who he is. There is that English corporal who was supposed to have been transferred here—Peter Newkirk."

"Isn't he the one who was involved with your spy, Gretel?" Mullenberg asked.

"_Ja_, he is the one," Hochstetter said. "He is another one of Hogan's inner circle. I imagine he works very closely with this Frenchman." He leaned forward to address LeBeau. "Corporal, tell me more about your friend—Pierre Newkirk, _ja_?"

"_Oui_, Pierre," LeBeau slurred. "_J'ai foi en lui_."

Mullenberg paged through the dictionary before translating, "He says he has faith in him, _Herr Major_."

"But, of course," Hochstetter said. "You have faith because you work together—for Colonel Hogan, _ja_?"

"_Oui_, I work for him," LeBeau said. "I cook for _le colonel_—whatever he asks me to cook, I cook." He sighed. "Even if I cannot stand it, I still cook it."

Hochstetter growled in frustration. Cooking was against regulations, but it was not an offense that garnered enough reason for Hochstetter to prosecute the corporal.

"Tell me, Corporal," he went on, after regaining some composure. "Are there any _other_ tasks you perform for Colonel Hogan? Does Newkirk perform any tasks, as well?"

"_Oui_, I grow mushrooms, and I help Pierre with the sewing of torn uniforms."

Hochstetter was about to yell in sheer frustration before an idea came to him.

"So… Corporal Newkirk is a tailor, and you assist him?"

"_Oui_; we both help maintain the uniforms."

"And… do you also _make_ articles of clothing—such as civilian clothes for escapees, or German uniforms for sabotage and espionage activities?" Hochstetter asked, smirking.

LeBeau did not respond.

"He _is_ trying to resist!" Hochstetter claimed. "That, in itself, is a sign of guilt! I will trap him now; he cannot resist forever! I _will_ get a confession!"

Mullenberg didn't think it would be that simple, but he knew better than to contradict the major.

"What we need is a setting more suitable for interrogation," Hochstetter mused. "I will take him with me to Berlin—make him a guest of our brand of hospitality. His tongue will loosen, and then I can administer another dose of this serum."

"In other words, you would go against my orders, Hochstetter?" a crisp, cold voice asked. "You would openly defy the orders of a general?"

The Germans looked to the door and immediately snapped to attention as Sergeant Carter, alias General von Siedleberg, strode in through the doorway, with Newkirk right behind him. Carter surveyed the room, and then glanced at LeBeau.

"This man…" he said, remaining so calm that Newkirk was certain this had to be one of the best acting jobs of the war. "I am sure I have seen him before; was he residing in one of the barracks at Stalag 13—the one you were conducting your bunk inspections and gardening in, Hochstetter?"

"_Ja_, he is from Stalag 13," Hochstetter said, gritting his teeth again. He turned to the guard. "Take him back to his barracks."

"Then why, may I ask, is he here at Stalag 6?" Carter asked, glaring dangerously at first Hochstetter, and then Mullenberg, as the guard practically dragged the unconscious corporal out. "Hochstetter, did you not tell Mullenberg here of my dislike of transfers?" Carter now turned his piercing gaze at the colonel. "And you… How do _you_ explain his presence here?"

"I… it was only a temporary transfer, _Herr General_," Mullenberg said, not realizing that he was addressing the very same American sergeant that he had chided for speaking without permission during his dinner at Stalag 13. "I needed a good chef in order to serve a meal for the major."

Hochstetter gave Mullenberg a glare of his own, silently ordering for him not to drag him any further into this.

"So, you go out seeking _cooking staff_ instead of trying to find the ten fliers who escaped form you!" Carter snapped. "What kind of a prisoner-of-war camp are you running?"

"It shall not happen again, _Herr General_!" Mullenberg insisted.

"And what authorization did the both of you receive in order to start using a truth serum on that corporal?" Carter went on, slamming his riding crop onto the table.

_Cor Blimey, he's like a ruddy Jekyll and Hyde, he is_… Newkirk marveled, as he watched Carter at work. It was incredibly satisfying to see Mullenberg cower and Hochstetter back down from the normally mild-mannered American.

"Colonel Backsheider supplied the serum," Hochstetter said, determined to drag himself as far away from this as was feasible.

"I see," Carter said, sitting down at Mullenberg's desk and lacing his fingers together. "I shall have a word with him afterward, but I am not finished with you two yet. Mullenberg, I was very displeased with your imperfect record before I found out about this. Colonel Klink of Stalag 13 may be an utter fool, but his perfect escape record is what saves him from the Russian Front. You, Mullenberg, do not have such a safety net. _Ist das klar_?"

Mullenberg opened his mouth to speak, but could not. He could only nod.

"I gave you a chance before, though it was against my better judgment," Carter went on. "I am not convinced that you deserve yet another chance, Mullenberg. I shall have to think it over. In the meantime, please tell me that there haven't been any _more_ escapes since that last mass breakout."

"There have been no more, _Herr General_," Mullenberg managed to stammer. "The eight recaptured men are still in the cooler."

"And that brings me back to you, Hochstetter," the American said, turning his glare back to the major. "Are you continuing your bunk inspections and gardening here, as well? Or were you going to interrogate those eight men without authorization, just as you did with that corporal?"

Hochstetter glared at Carter silently for a moment.

"I was, _Herr General_, going to interrogate them as per the instructions of my superiors in Berlin," he stated.

"Well, now you will keep out of this as per _my_ instructions," Carter retorted. "I am sure that General Burkhalter will agree with me when I say that this is not a matter for you and your 'superiors in Berlin.' I am in charge of security for all Luft Stalags, Hochstetter; I suggest you let _me_ handle it. You are now dismissed, Major. Return to Berlin and feel free to tell your superiors what I have told you."

Newkirk distinctly saw Hochstetter slip the bottle of serum into his pocket as he moved to go. For one fleeting moment, the Englishman considered trying to nick it from him, but he was more concerned with getting LeBeau out, and didn't want to pull off any move that might ruin things at this point.

"Captain," Carter said. "See to it that Major Hochstetter finds his way out without any hassle."

"At once, _Herr General_!" Newkirk said, following Hochstetter to make sure that he did not take any detours.

To his immense relief and triumph, the major did not; he got into his staff car and left. It was all Newkirk could do to hold back a cheer. They had gotten the most difficult hurdle out of their way, for the time being. By the time Hochstetter figured out that General von Siedelberg and Captain von Leonhart did not exist, it would all, hopefully, be over.

Considerably more jubilant, Newkirk headed back to the office, where Carter was continuing to make Mullenberg more and more nervous.

"I do not trust Hochstetter to stay away from those fliers," he said. "Nor do I trust you to stop them from escaping again!"

"I… I understand, _Herr General_," Mullenberg said. "You may take any course of action you see fit."

"Good. Then you will not protest when I take those eight men with me, I assume."

"Not at all, _Herr General_; they are yours for the taking and for the questioning."

"And I shall be taking the Frenchman, as well," Carter added. "This habit of transferring prisoners of yours, especially for reasons this trivial, must be stopped at once. If I ever hear of you planning another stunt like this…" He trailed off, giving him a very unnerving, quiet chuckle. "The Russian Front will be the _best_ you can hope for."

"I understand clearly, _Herr General_," Mullenberg said.

"_Gut_; I have a truck waiting outside. You will come with me to the cooler and help me get the eight men into the cooler." Carter turned to face Newkirk. "Captain, can I trust you to bring the Frenchman?"

As they exchanged glances, they were Carter and Newkirk again for the briefest instant before reverting back to von Siedelberg and von Leonhart.

"You can, _Herr General_," Newkirk said, grateful that Carter understood how much he wanted to be the one to get LeBeau out.

"Then be quick about it," Carter said. "Come, Mullenberg."

The colonel followed the sergeant-turned-general without question as Newkirk headed to the barracks from the previous day.

The prisoners stood at attention as Newkirk entered the barracks, but the Englishman could care less. He was more concerned with the fact that he could not see LeBeau here.

_Hochstetter gave the order to send him here. I took a look in his car; he didn't take Louis with him. Where is he?_

"Looking for something, Captain?"

Newkirk turned to face the American major he had clashed with the previous day.

"You again?" the Englishman sneered at Vulsor. "For your information, I am looking for some_one_; I am looking for the French corporal who resides here."

"I don't see any French corporal, Captain," said Vulsor, calmly, as he and Newkirk both glared daggers at each other. "With all due respect, perhaps you simply have the wrong barracks?"

"Do not play games with me, Major," Newkirk said, finding it ironic that his biggest obstacle in rescuing LeBeau was not an enemy, but an ally. "I have orders from General von Siedelberg to take the corporal and the eight men in the cooler. They are being taken from Stalag 6 immediately."

"If he is here, then you can take him," Vulsor said, calmly. "But I don't see him here, do you?"

Annoyed, Newkirk didn't respond; he crossed to the major's office and quarters, forcing it open as he found that it was locked. His gaze fell upon both of the empty bunks, and then the empty locker.

He slammed the locker door shut in frustration. The American must have hidden LeBeau in one of the other barracks; he, of course, didn't know why Vulsor was going through so much trouble to keep LeBeau hidden.

But where would the American have found the time and opportunity to move the unconscious LeBeau so quickly? One of the guards would have seen such a maneuver and would have reported it. LeBeau had to be here—somewhere so obvious that no one would think to look there…

Outside the office, Major Vulsor sat with folded arms and baited breath. He knew trouble was brewing well before the guard brought the drugged corporal back on Hochstetter's orders. A look outside the barracks had given the American an eyeful of the new staff car and the truck. Putting two and two together, he had set about hiding the unconscious LeBeau, gambling on the hope that this General von Siedelberg, whoever he was, would not leave without the Frenchman, too.

He bit back a smirk as he heard the irate "captain" breaking open his footlocker, and then cursing as he found it empty.

"Are you quite through, Captain?" he asked.

Newkirk clenched his fists, half wondering if he should reveal his true identity to the major for the sake of getting this business over with. But there was always the risk of this man being a plant by the Germans. And that was not a risk that Newkirk was willing to take.

The Englishman slammed the lid of the footlocker shut, arriving at his wit's end. Dare he go through every single footlocker in the barracks?

_Cor, Louis, why do you have to be so ruddy simple to hide?_

He glanced around the room again, trying to figure out a likely hiding place. It couldn't be too small, he realized; LeBeau was unconscious, after all, and would not be able to make himself fit in excruciatingly small spaces. Of course, LeBeau wouldn't be so willing to do it while conscious, either, thanks to his claustrophobia, but there were several missions when he had, much to his chagrin.

Newkirk stared at the bunks, the bottom of which was still elevated a few feet from the ground. The light bulb went off in his head, and he knelt down. The red scarf in his line of vision was unmistakable.

_Louis!_ he silently exclaimed.

Glancing around to make sure that the American wasn't going to suddenly return, Newkirk began to pull the Frenchman from under the bunk. LeBeau stirred as Newkirk began to pull him out by his shoulders, and he made an effort to try to open his eyes.

"_Capitaine_…" he mumbled, seeing Newkirk; he was still too much under the serum's influence to recognize him. "I wish to… report a violation… of the Geneva Convention."

"Shh. Wake up, Louis!" Newkirk whispered. _Cor, he's out of it, he is; why didn't I bring smelling salts with me?_ "Louis, come on—it's your ol' mate, Peter!"

But LeBeau just turned his head to the side and mumbled something else.

"Right, up you get…" the Englishman sighed, quietly, as he pulled him out from under the bunk completely. He tried to get LeBeau to stand, but the corporal merely sunk back to the floor. "…or not…"

As much as he wanted to carry him out, Newkirk knew that no enemy general's aide would do such a thing. He would have to drag him out.

The Englishman set himself up to do just that, starting to drag him out as the American major came back in.

"I see you've found him, Captain," Vulsor said, remaining calm.

"Yes, it was really an amazing find," Newkirk replied, sardonically. "The corporal was taking a nap—under the bunks."

"I would give you more credit for your discovery, Captain," the American replied. "However, you made one foolish mistake."

Newkirk was still holding on to LeBeau as Vulsor reached for the gun in the Englishman's own holster; if he had not, he might have been able to stop him. But with his hands full, Newkirk could only glare as the American major pulled the weapon on him.

"I have my own reasons for ensuring that the corporal and the eight men do not leave this camp, unless they are free," he said, quietly. "And you, Captain, are going to be their ticket out of here."

Newkirk stared down the barrel of the gun.

_Fate, please tell me that this is some ruddy sort of joke_.

No answer came to him.


	12. Good Luck, Goodbye

Newkirk always suspected that one of his missions would end up with him staring down the barrel of a gun, but even he had to admit that this wasn't quite what he had expected. It was a sad irony, he realized, that Hochstetter ended up being a smaller threat than this American.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Vulsor said. "You're going to take him out to the truck, just as you intended. But you're going to insist that you drive the truck. And I will be there with you in the passenger seat; just tell them that you needed to take me along as a witness."

"And let me guess; if I don't do things as per your instructions, you'll let me have it?" the Englishman asked, his mind racing for a solution. He was still holding LeBeau up; hopefully, the American wouldn't shoot haphazardly if he was trying to save him, too. But Newkirk also had to wonder why he was going through so much trouble to do so in the first place.

Another light bulb went off in Newkirk's mind as he recalled his brief meeting with LeBeau yesterday. If he was lucky, there was still one way to defend himself—one that the American wouldn't know about.

"That's the general idea, Captain," Vulsor went on. "You're going to drive us to somewhere safe; the Frenchman might know some Underground rendezvous points. You'll take us to wherever he says. We can let you go after some time, but seeing as though von Siedelberg will see you as a traitor, you might as well go with these men into the hands of the Underground."

"Let me just say that you're making a very grave mistake," Newkirk retorted. He was not going to take this any longer.

"Oh, I don't think so," Vulsor said. "I know what I'm doing. This man is going to go free, and this gun will be the insurance policy that I need to make sure it happens. You're in no position to argue."

"That's what you think," the Englishman snarled. He reached into LeBeau's pocket and withdrew the gun he had given him the day before, pointing it at Vulsor. "Now the odds are evened, aren't they?"_ There's no choice; I have to tell him the truth… or part of it, anyway. I don't have the time to get caught up in a standoff with this idiot, but if he thinks he's getting the whole story, he's daft_.

The American major stared, stunned, at the gun that Newkirk had just produced out of the Frenchman's pocket.

"How…? He couldn't have had that gun; he would've told me if he was armed! How did you know he had that in his pocket?"

"I put it there, you ruddy fool!" Newkirk retorted, in his normal voice.

"You… you're English?"

"Oh, thanks for reminding me; I'll keep that in mind if I ever 'ave an identity crisis!" Newkirk snarled back, quietly. "Look, shut the door; we've got to talk."

Still wary, Vulsor used his foot to close the door to his office, still holding Newkirk at gunpoint. He, too, wasn't sure if Newkirk was a German plant or not; which accent was his real one?

"Talk," Vulsor said. "I'm listening."

"Let's 'ear _you_ talk," said Newkirk. "Why are you so concerned with a man who's only been 'ere a few days?"

"Oh, no; _you're_ the one in the enemy uniform. _You_ talk first. Why are you working for a German general; are you a traitor or a double agent? And just what do you have planned for this corporal and those other men? But, before that, where are you really from?"

"I'm not about to give you me life story, especially since you've given me no reason to trust you," Newkirk retorted. "But I'll tell you this much: based on what I 'eard from you, we seem to be working with the same goal in mind. I'm on a mission to free those men, but this one especially." He glanced pointedly at LeBeau, whom he was still holding up with one arm. "I know 'im personally."

"And just how do you know him?" Vulsor asked. "He's been a prisoner in Stalag 13 for years; you'd have had to have known him from long ago."

"The RAF did fly in France, you know," Newkirk replied, cryptically. He didn't want to reveal that he was a prisoner in Stalag 13, just in case the major was a plant. The truth was, of course, that even though he had been part of the British Expeditionary Force, Newkirk hadn't met LeBeau until he arrived in Stalag 13. "What's _your_ story?"

"This corporal decided to confide in me the true reason why he was here—to orchestrate the escape of those eight men in the cooler. It was a mission that I swore to help him complete at all costs; that is why I dared to draw your own weapon on you. And though you make some sense, I'm afraid I don't quite trust you."

"Nor do I trust you," said Newkirk. "It looks as though Louis is the one who can clear up this misunderstanding… if 'e was conscious."

"Then, perhaps, we should wake him and clear this up," Vulsor suggested.

"Don't you move," Newkirk warned, as he knelt down to allow him to keep the gun drawn on Vulsor while trying to awaken LeBeau. "Louis…? Wake up, little mate." _And please, come around enough to know me again, otherwise our goose is as good as cooked_. "Louis, you've got to wake up!"

The older corporal groaned and stirred, but did not awaken.

Newkirk gritted his teeth and then resorted to using the language he knew his friend would best respond to.

"_Réveillez-vous_, Louis! _S'il vous plaît_!"

That got the rise out of LeBeau that Newkirk had been hoping for; he opened his eyes, looking very bewildered at Newkirk. The Englishman's heart sank; was he still too out of it to recognize him?

The Frenchman just stared at Newkirk and began to shake his head.

"Louis…?" Newkirk asked, concerned.

"Your pronunciation," LeBeau said, still shaking his head. "_C'est terrible, mon pote_!"

Newkirk stared at him with an unreadable expression.

"Oh, charming. I risk me neck to save yours, and that's the gratitude I get?"

LeBeau managed a weak smile.

"Of course not; I knew you would come, Pierre. My gamble paid off."

"Pierre?" Vulsor repeated. "You mean this is the Pierre you kept bringing up?"

"_Oui, Major_; he is a very dear friend of mine."

"There, you see?" said Newkirk. "May I 'ave me gun back now?"

"My apologies," the major said, handing the gun back to Newkirk. "It looks as though we are on the same side, after all."

"Yeah, well, I reckon I'll let it slide this time," Newkirk said, half-heartedly. "Louis, we've got to get a move on; Andrew's loading up the eight fliers in the truck. 'E sent me to get you nearly twenty minutes ago!"

"André is here, too?" LeBeau asked, amazed. He then smiled. "I should have expected him to come…"

"Who is this André?" Vulsor asked, confused

"Another friend of ours," Newkirk said. "You know 'im best as 'General von Siedelberg,' I'd wager."

Vulsor stared at him, amazed.

"Are you with the Underground?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm just 'ere to 'elp a mate," Newkirk said. Even if the major was trustworthy, he wasn't going to get an answer to his question.

"I'll leave it in your hands," Vulsor said, with an understanding nod. This man was going to play it safe, too, and he had to respect that. He turned to LeBeau. "Good luck, Corporal."

"_Bonne chance, Major_," LeBeau responded. "Are you sure you do not want to come with us? I am sure Pierre and André can pull some more strings."

"No; I think I've interfered enough," Vulsor said.

"Too right you 'ave," Newkirk muttered, as the major left the office. "Cor, I never thought a fellow Ally would end up 'olding me at gunpoint—with me own gun, at that… Oh, right…" He handed the gun he had borrowed back to LeBeau and placed his own back in its holster.

The Frenchman pocketed the gun and tried to stand up, but yelped as he nearly fell over.

"Easy, Louis, easy…" said Newkirk, helping him steady himself. "We're going to 'ave to say our goodbyes 'ere, little mate; Andrew and I are 'eading back in the staff car, and you're going in the truck via your 'omeland to get to the Channel."

"Really?" LeBeau asked, the shine evident in his eyes.

"Yeah; Tiger's planning your route!" Newkirk had to force the smile on his face. By his choice, he would take LeBeau back with them to Stalag 13. But the look on his friend's face clearly told him that the Frenchman was sticking to his original plans; the chance to travel through France would make it even more impossible for LeBeau to resist escaping.

"It will be nice to see Tiger again; I shall have to give her regards on _le colonel's_ behalf," the Frenchman said.

"You do that, Louis," the Englishman said. "And if you can do me a favor, too… When you get to London, could you look up me sister and make sure she's 'andling things on 'er own just right?"

"Of course, mon pote," LeBeau promised. "I shall never forget all that you have done for me. Give my regards to everyone."

"You bet I will, Louis," Newkirk said. He suppressed the mounting sigh. "_Bonne chance, mon ami_."

LeBeau managed a smile now, deciding to go through with the instigated role-reversal. "Good luck, old mate."

Newkirk gave a nod, and as they headed out of the barracks, he reverted back to Captain von Leonhart as he led LeBeau along.

"What took so long?" Carter exclaimed. His frustration was obvious and genuine; his worry was hidden to all but those who knew him.

"I am sorry, _Herr General_; the corporal was not quite awake when I found him," Newkirk responded.

Carter pretended to survey LeBeau, taking the opportunity to exchange a glance with him. It was their silent goodbye.

"In the truck," he ordered. "_Schnell_!"

LeBeau gave a nod, pretending to be intimidated, and he clambered inside the truck with the other eight men. The fliers were nervous, but they had begun to suspect that this was a method of escape, particularly when they noticed one of the slightly-open bundles in the truck bed; the men saw the briefest glimpse of civilian clothes. LeBeau's quick, reassuring look seemed to confirm their suspicions; the fliers now had to force themselves to look nervous.

"Drive on," Carter ordered.

Both he and Newkirk watched as the truck drove through the gates of Stalag 6. Remaining emotionless was an almost impossible task, but, somehow, the American and the Englishman pulled it off.

"We had best follow, _Herr General_," said Newkirk. "We must make sure that the Underground does not try to waylay the truck."

"An excellent suggestion," Carter agreed. He turned to Mullenberg. "We shall go."

"I understand, _Herr General_," the colonel said, saluting. "And I give you my personal assurance that there will be no more escapes—and no more transfers!"

Carter returned the salute in an almost bored manner.

"_Gut_," he replied. "See to it that I do not have to return here to reprimand you again. If I do, I can assure you that the results will be most unpleasant."

He got into the back seat of the staff car. Newkirk closed the door and headed into the driver's seat. He quickly pulled out through the open gates, biting back a smirk as he saw the perplexed Mullenberg stare vainly in the direction of the kitchen. It was back to substandard food for him.

"Boy!" Carter exclaimed, relieved to talk in his normal voice again. "We did it!"

"Just barely," Newkirk responded, proceeding to tell him the story of what really happened in the barracks.

"Wow," Carter mused, after Newkirk had finished. "So old Louis _was_ pulling something together on his own!"

"Yeah, but who knows if it would 'ave worked?" Newkirk asked. "Especially with that serum that 'ochstetter was going to use; that could've ended very badly."

"Well, let's not think about that, then," said the sergeant. "The important thing is that we helped him accomplish the mission, and Hochstetter didn't get anything; those fliers are heading to London along with Louis! When we get back, we should break out whatever's left of the wine and toast to the mission's success!"

Newkirk let out a half-hearted grunt, prompting Carter to frown.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Let's just say that I'm not in a toasting mood right about now," the Englishman replied. "I'm due for the Guv'nor's punishment, remember?"

"That's not the _real_ reason though, is it?"

Newkirk gripped the steering wheel tightly, not really wanting to answer.

"No, it's not the real reason," he said at last. "Andrew, I… I was just thinking that after everything you and I did to get Louis out of that place, he might at least consider changing his mind about going! I was 'oping—praying, even—that 'e would look at me and say, 'Pierre, I changed my mind; I wish to go back to Stalag 13 with you.' No such sentiments. I shouldn't 'ave told 'im the escape route was through France; that must 'ave sealed it for 'im."

"Come on, Peter; if you had the chance to escape, wouldn't you have taken it?"

"I 'ad the chance—twice. And both times, I came back! And what about you? You were all about going 'ome to see your girl, but you decided to stay, too!"

"You know how Louis is," Carter. "Once he believes in something, there's no swaying him. If he'd rather fight for France on the front lines rather than behind the scenes with us, then I feel we should respect his decision. You think I wanted him to go? Of course not!"

"'Once he believes in something,' eh?" Newkirk repeated. He shook his head. "All this time, I thought he believed in us."

"He still does, and you know it."

Newkirk waited for a moment before replying, "You know something, Andrew? There is no arguing with you. There really isn't. I just can't win."

Carter leaned back in his seat, a smirk of triumph on his face.

* * *

"At least you helped us to win the 'poker game.' That accounts for something," Carter was saying, as they headed down the tree stump entrance.

"Yeah," Newkirk agreed, smiling in spite of himself. They had left the staff car with the Hammelburg Underground and made the last leg of the journey back on foot. The evening darkness cloaked their arrival and a fresh wave of snow promised to cover their tracks. "And I'll tell you something else, Andrew; I'm thirsty enough to settle for that toast after all. Maybe just a quick drink before I report to the Guv'nor—"

"Hold that thought," said Carter, pausing. "I think Colonel Hogan is in the radio room. …Yeah, that's him."

"Oh, Cor… I _really_ can't win."

After returning to their old uniforms, their transformation finally complete, Newkirk and Carter headed to the radio room. Hogan and Kinch were both there, and the worried expressions on their faces did not bode well.

"Papa Bear to Tiger," Hogan was saying. "Papa Bear to Tiger, can you repeat your last message?"

"Tiger?" Carter repeated, quietly. "I thought she was helping Louis and the others…"

Newkirk didn't respond. From the look on Hogan's face, something had gone wrong… terribly wrong.

"Tiger to Papa Bear," the familiar voice of the Frenchwoman crackled over the radio. "One of my men took custody of the bowls of porridge as planned. He encountered an unexpected squad of Wicked Witches near the vicinity of Paris. The truck tires were blown out; everyone fled. We have recovered some of the bowls of porridge."

"How many have you recovered?" Hogan asked.

"We have recovered six of them, Papa Bear; my man was able to regroup some of them shortly after the ambush and they are on their way to London as we speak, by an alternate route. We believe the others are somewhere in Paris; Big Bad Wolf is also missing, and it seems that it would be the most logical place for him to lead them."

Newkirk could not bring himself to worry for the other two fliers; his mind could only register that LeBeau was somewhere in Paris. Well, it was where he wanted to be, of course, but it was too dangerous for him. On the other hand, Newkirk could take comfort in the thought that LeBeau knew the city better than any German could ever hope to. However, it still didn't bring him much relief.

"Have your men continue looking for them," Hogan said to Tiger. "However do not—I repeat, do _not_—enter Paris yourself, under any circumstances."

"Negative, Papa Bear; I must help—"

"And what happens if Backsheider sees you?" Hogan retorted. "He's got your number; he'll have you thrown back into one of his cells before you could even say a word!"

"Big Bad Wolf cannot stay in Paris," Tiger insisted. "If I must put myself at risk to get him and the two bowls of porridge out, then so be it. I know how to stay hidden, Papa Bear. I would think that you have a little more faith in me than this!"

"This isn't about faith, Tiger," Hogan said. "I'm going to try whatever I can from my end; just give me 48 hours before you go entering the city."

"I will wait 24 hours," she replied, flatly.

"I said '48,'" Hogan repeated, the strain evident in his voice.

"_D'accord_; 48 hours," Tiger said, knowing when she was beaten. "But if I do not hear from you once those 48 hours are up, I will go."

"Affirmative, Tiger," Hogan replied. "Papa Bear out."

"She's got guts, Colonel," Kinch said.

"Too much of it; how could she take such a risk?"

"I would, Sir, to 'elp Louis…"

"Newkirk, don't even start," Hogan said. He turned to him and to Carter. "I'm sure you two have figured out the scope of it by now; the good news _and_ the bad news is that LeBeau is home."

"Well, Sir, you did say that the plan was to have him end up in Paris eventually," Carter said.

"Right, but 'eventually' meant after the heat would be off of him; once word gets back to Hochstetter, he's going to, in his own words, 'surround Paris with a ring of steel.' Not even LeBeau can hide from him forever."

"Actually, 'e could if 'e 'ides under a double bunk…"

"What?"

"Long story, Sir," Newkirk said, with a shake of his head.

"We do have a limited window of opportunity in which to act," said Kinch. "Depending on how long it takes for Hochstetter to find out, Backsheider only knows LeBeau as 'Marcel Chalet.' And, knowing LeBeau, he wouldn't let any of Backsheider's boys spot him in the first place; he has the home advantage."

"And that's the _only_ advantage he's got," Hogan sighed. "We've got to find LeBeau and those two fliers before Hochstetter does."

"Especially since 'e 'as the serum now," Newkirk said, and he proceeded to tell Hogan about Hochstetter pocketing it on his way out.

"Great; that's just great," Hogan said, sardonically. "How _else_ can things go wrong?"

"I'm afraid I've got the answer to that, Sir," said Olsen, climbing down the ladder. "There are staff cars out there, Sir."

"Staff cars?" Hogan repeated. "Whose?"

"Burkhalter, Hochstetter, Mullenberg…" Olsen said, with a shake of his head. "It's going to be a convention in Klink's office. Mullenberg even has one of his prisoners with him; Hochstetter apparently thinks the prisoner knows something about a second mass escape, an ambush near Paris, and a fake general and captain." He glanced pointedly at Carter and Newkirk.

"Well, I guess I had to retire the von Siedelberg disguise sooner or later…" Carter said, with a shrug.

"And cancel that limited window of opportunity," Kinch said. "What now, Colonel?"

"Well, the poker game isn't over yet," Hogan said. "We're not abandoning LeBeau, but need to know the new score."

"Baker's setting up the coffeepot," Olsen said. "He figured you'd want to listen in on _this_."

"Bless him," Hogan responded. He headed up the ladder as quickly as an officer's dignity would allow.

The others followed, although Newkirk lagged behind for a moment. Fate was planning something new. The corporal could only hope that it would be better than what had transpired so far.


	13. Destination Paris

The men joined Baker in the office, who was already listening in.

"Have we missed anything yet?" Hogan asked.

"Just Klink trying to make it very clear that he's done nothing wrong," the younger techie replied.

"I don't understand, Major Hochstetter!" Klink was saying. "If the escape happened at Stalag 6, why drag me into this?"

"Because, Klink, one of the escapees used to be one of _your_ prisoners," Hochstetter replied, through gritted teeth.

"It is only a testament to my iron grip on this camp!" Klink insisted. "After all, there has never been an escape—"

"Klink, shut up," Burkhalter said, decidedly not amused to be harassed by news of another mass escape immediately upon his return.

"Yes, Sir; shutting up, Sir…"

"And furthermore," Hochstetter went on. "I was not amused to find out that Mullenberg and I had been tricked by two men impersonating German officers. I know how your men insist on defending each other, Klink; I am certain that they were your prisoners! It is exactly like them to pull a stunt such as this!"

"And just how do you propose to explain that two prisoners of war used a German staff car and German uniforms to make it from Hammelburg to Düsseldorf?" Burkhalter asked. "According to this report, Klink's car hasn't left the motor pool in weeks!"

"I do not know how they did it, but if there is a way, they will have found it," Hochstetter insisted. "Nothing stops a determined man."

"General Burkhalter," said an American voice. "I don't suppose Major Hochstetter and Colonel Mullenberg have told you about their unauthorized usage of truth serum to question the French corporal?"

"Silence!" Mullenberg snarled.

"That must be the prisoner Mullenberg brought," Carter said.

"It's that ruddy American major I told you about, Andrew," Newkirk said, recognizing the voice. Based on what they were hearing, though, it did seem that he was trying to discredit Hochstetter and Mullenberg.

"Quiet," Hogan ordered, tying to see where this was going.

"A truth serum?" Burkhalter had repeated. "No, Vulsor; they conveniently forgot to mention that." Though they couldn't see it, the Heroes could easily picture the glare that the General was giving to Hochstetter and Mullenberg. "Now it is clear to me why those impostors acted so quickly; you _dummkopfs_ unnerved them with your unauthorized interrogations. The Underground was _forced_ to act."

"_Herr General_, I was only carrying out the orders of my superiors—" Hochstetter began.

"And I was trying to get information to impress Major Hochstetter—"

"Shut _up_, Mullenberg!"

"Don't you just love it when they fight among themselves?" Hogan mused.

"_Both_ of you, shut up!" Burkhalter snapped. "And what about this General von Siedelberg; have you found any information on him?"

"No, we have not," Hochstetter sighed. "He seemed like the genuine article—overbearing, sure of himself, arrogant…" He trailed off as he saw Burkhalter glaring at him even more. "Not that those same descriptions apply to you, _Herr General_; I was just trying to illustrate that this impostor was very sure of himself."

"I was convinced that he was a real general as well," said Mullenberg. "And it was Major Hochstetter who told me about him in the first place."

"You—! _Herr General_, I first saw that impostor here at Stalag 13 three weeks ago. He claimed to know Klink, and Klink agreed with him!"

"I only said that because I was not about to contradict him!" Klink insisted. "If there's one thing I've learned, it is that you never contradict a general!"

"That would explain a lot," Burkhalter replied, with a roll of his eyes. "Hochstetter, do you honestly believe that one of the prisoners here impersonated a general and a captain?"

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest," Hochstetter said, still unsure as to how the imposter had found out about his black market dealings; he was certain Gretel had something to do with that—further proof that she was not trustworthy. "I did not get a good look at the captain, but I would be able to recognize the general's impersonator in ten seconds. Klink, I demand you hold a roll call right now!"

"Hochstetter, I will give the orders here," Burkhalter said. "But if it will allow the conversation to move forward, then I shall insist that a roll call be help. Klink, have the men line up. Hochstetter, you will go with him and see if you can find your so-called impostor. If you cannot, we will move on to discussing about the escapees."

"Colonel Hogan…" said Carter, going slightly pale. "What do I do?"

"Keep looking like that," Hogan suggested. "Remember, Hochstetter is looking for someone who's overbearing and sure of himself. You don't fit that description at the moment."

Hogan sounded a lot more confident than he truly was; it was true that no one had ever been able to connect Carter to one of his fake German personas, but the sergeant had never been forced to stand up to Hochstetter's inspection.

Schultz was soon heard calling everyone out for the surprise roll call. Carter continued to look meek and unassuming as he stood in back. Newkirk, however, was staring at the empty spot beside him where LeBeau should have been. The news of LeBeau hiding out in Paris had made the Englishman more numb than worried; he wasn't sure if it was because he knew of LeBeau's home advantage, or if he was so exhausted that the full scope of it hadn't sunk in yet.

"Repoooooort…" Klink drawled.

"All present and accounted for, _Herr Kommandant_," Schultz responded. His eyes fell to the empty spot beside Newkirk as he thought about LeBeau, too. He had heard the news about the escape getting cut off near Paris; he was confident that LeBeau would successfully hide, but that did not stop him from worrying about what would happen if Hochstetter managed to find him.

"You see, Major Hochstetter?" Klink said, slightly smug. "No one is missing."

"Bah!" the major retorted. He began to walk across the compound, inspecting each face. As Hogan had predicted (and hoped), Hochstetter didn't give Carter a second glance; being a ruddy Jekyll and Hyde clearly had its advantages.

"He is not here," Hochstetter said, displeased. "But I will be keeping my eye on them." He gave a glance in Hogan's direction, who countered with a confident stare.

Klink dismissed everyone, taking Hochstetter back to the office. The Heroes returned to the coffeepot in time to hear Hochstetter admit to Burkhalter that he could not find the culprit.

"I still say we should question this man," Hochstetter added, indicating Vulsor.

"Hochstetter, your unnecessary questioning might be the cause of this problem!" Burkhalter countered. "Mullenberg, dismiss this American. Tell him to wait in the outer office; this no longer concerns him."

"Then it definitely concerns us," Hogan murmured to no one in particular as Vulsor was ordered to leave.

"So," Burkhalter continued. "What sort of plans do you have in mind for recovering the nine new escapees, not to mention the ten who escaped previously?"

Mullenberg paled; even if von Siedelberg had been a fake, he was still in hot water for now losing a grand total of nineteen prisoners—one of whom he wasn't even supposed to have in his custody.

"I will find them, _Herr General_," Hochstetter said. "It stands to reason that they would hide in Paris; it will not take long for my men—and Backsheider's, if necessary—to find them."

"And what happens once they are in your custody?" Burkhalter asked. "Will you be holding _more_ unauthorized interrogation sessions? No, Hochstetter; I want these men to be returned to a Luft Stalag."

"And I have orders to bring them to Berlin!" Hochstetter insisted. He knew of the general's dislike for the secret police; that was the reason why Burkhalter wanted the men out of their hands. But Hochstetter was not going to bend for that reason.

"_Herr General_, as they were my men, I wish to have a chance to find them and bring them back to Stalag 6," said Mullenberg.

"To let them escape yet again from your so-called prison?" Klink taunted, much braver with Burkhalter around. "If _I_ were to recover those men, they would remain here until the end of the war!"

"Are you volunteering to look for the men, also, Klink?" Burkhalter asked.

"Well, Sir, the decision of who searches for them is up to you, naturally," Klink responded, having no desire to bother with it. "We have all of those transfer papers to deal with, and nobody wants that—"

"Then here is my decision: I am not going to allow my colonels to play Musical Stalags with their prisoners any longer," the general responded. "Both of you can send as many of your guards to Paris as you wish; you will maintain custody of the prisoners you recover. And for your sake, Mullenberg, you had best hope that you recover the majority of them."

"I understand, _Herr General_."

Hogan's eyes narrowed as an idea came to him.

"That's it," he said. "That's our angle. Newkirk, come with me; we're going to pay Klink a visit."

"Me, Sir?"

"You're the only Newkirk around, unless your sister is in town," the colonel responded. He turned to the others. "I want the rest of you men to keep listening."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Sir," Newkirk said, as they exited the barracks and headed for the _Kommandantur_. "Just 'ow does Burkhalter ordering Klink and Mullenberg to conduct a search 'elp Louis?"

"For starters, it means there's a better chance that someone other than Hochstetter's goons will find him," Hogan said. "Secondly, it's also our ticket to Paris."

"But why do you want me to come along?" Newkirk asked.

"You want to help LeBeau, don't you?" the colonel asked.

"More than anything, Sir, but…" Newkirk began, but trailed off as he understood. "Another reprieve, Sir?"

"I guess you can call it that," Hogan said. "You're still going to face that punishment, of course; don't think I'm going to forget about it anytime soon."

Schultz, who was standing outside the _Kommandantur_, made only a half-hearted attempt to stop them from entering ("Do you _really_ want to go in with all of them there, Colonel Hogan?"). The two stopped in the outer office upon seeing Vulsor with his ear pressed against the door of the inner office, trying to listen to the conversation.

Hogan cleared his throat quietly, and Vulsor looked up, startled.

"Oh. Evening, Sir," he said, saluting the colonel. He was relieved it hadn't been a German catching him.

"What's the score?" Hogan asked, returning the salute. He was only asking to gauge how trustworthy the major was.

"There's going to be a big race to see who can recover the escapees in Paris, Sir," Vulsor said, as he walked over to them. "Hochstetter wants to take them to…" He trailed off as he noticed Newkirk, and the Englishman had to hide his amusement.

"Something wrong?" Hogan asked.

"No, Sir, I…" Vulsor trailed off again, staring at Newkirk. "Corporal, have we met before?"

Newkirk responded with an innocent shrug. Vulsor continued to stare at him, trying to picture him with a mustache and a German captain's uniform.

"You… you're Pierre!" he realized, quietly. His glance returned to Colonel Hogan. No, this was not the man who was von Siedelberg, but there was no denying that the colonel was somehow involved with what had happened earlier today. And it was then that the realization hit him: _this man was Papa Bear_.

Vulsor stood at rapt attention, saluting the colonel once again, but now with a new admiration for the man who was responsible for the lives and freedom of so many.

"Sir, if there's absolutely anything I can do, please-"

"There is, actually," Hogan said, after some time. "Mullenberg is going to be pretty desperate to save his own skin; if you tell him that LeBeau told you where some of his old haunts were, then Mullenberg might have you go along with his guards to Paris. If that happens, do me a favor and steer them wrong."

"I understand, Sir," Vulsor responded.

Mullenberg, noticeably pale, suddenly exited the inner office. The guard accompanying him seized Vulsor by the arm without a word; the American major looked back at Hogan one more time with a nod that promised he would do his best.

Burkhalter was the next to leave, deciding not to stand around and watch Hochstetter threaten Klink with more investigations. He cast an unimpressed glance at Hogan and Newkirk before guiding his rotund frame outside.

Hogan indicated Newkirk to follow him into the inner officer.

"Evening, Major Hochstetter," the colonel said, in a tone which the German major would find annoyingly cheerful.

"What is this man doing here?" Hochstetter fumed. "Klink, I thought you claimed you had your prisoners under control!"

"At least they _stay_ here!" Klink defended.

"Bah!" Hochstetter said again, pushing past Hogan and Newkirk to exit.

Klink wearily sat back down in his chair, relieved that it was all over.

"What is it, Hogan?" he asked. "Please, make it quick and get back to your barracks; I have had a most unpleasant evening."

"Sir, Corporal Newkirk and I wish to lend our services to help your guards find LeBeau," Hogan said.

Klink gave Hogan a long stare.

"I'll give you my word as an officer and a gentleman that Newkirk and I won't try to escape," Hogan went on. "Just let us join the search party!"

"Hogan, there is no 'search party' for LeBeau; he is no longer my prisoner, and he is no longer my responsibility. Let Mullenberg worry about him. Furthermore, why would you volunteer to bring back an escaped prisoner who was once one of your men?"

"We can't stand living off of K-rations anymore," Hogan responded, without missing a beat.

"It's awful, Sir!" Newkirk said. "Ol' Louis was able to turn those ruddy rations into something we actually enjoyed eating!"

"Besides that, I'd rather have LeBeau back here than in Hochstetter's hands," Hogan added. "There's no telling what Hochstetter might force him to say!"

Even Klink had to admit to himself that he didn't like the idea of seeing LeBeau in Hochstetter's custody; he didn't like the idea of seeing _anyone_ in Hochstetter's custody, for that matter. But what were the chances of finding LeBeau anyway, even with Newkirk and Hogan there to help? LeBeau knew more about Paris than everyone in Barracks Two combined.

"Even so, Hogan, there is still no reason for me to waste time and manpower by sending out my men to look for him," Klink said at last.

"It _would_ impress General Burkhalter, Sir…"

"Fine, Hogan; there is _one_ reason why I should waste time and manpower to look for him. But I still say it is a wild goose chase. Request denied. You are dismissed."

Hogan bit his lip as Newkirk gave him a "What now?" glance. The colonel's thoughts were interrupted, however, by a rumbling sound that seemed to come from Klink's empty stomach.

The German colonel froze, not even daring to look up at Hogan. He knew he would see a very smug expression.

"Been eating well, Sir?" Hogan asked, innocently.

Newkirk began to shake from his attempts to suppress his laughter.

Klink looked up with a very disdainful expression. "You will still give me your word of honor that there will be no escapes?"

"Absolutely, Sir," Hogan promised. "Newkirk and I figure we can command the guards efficiently enough to find LeBeau within 24 hours."

"Hogan, I am not sending all of my guards to Paris! I may be starved, but I am not _that_ starved! You will leave later tonight with Schultz and Langenscheidt."

"Okay, that'll take about… 48 hours," Hogan decided.

"Fine, Hogan, Fine! Just go and make sure that you come _back_!" Klink said.

"I have one more request, Sir," said Hogan. "I believe that LeBeau was driven to escape from Stalag 6; if we do find him, I want you to promise that he won't have to spend any time in the cooler!"

"Why are you so confident that you will find him?" Klink asked, now beginning to get slightly suspicious.

"Well, Sir, Newkirk here has known LeBeau for a long time."

"It's true, Sir; I 'ave the address of 'is flat and everything."

"So does Major Hochstetter," Klink reminded them.

"Really, Sir, do you think that LeBeau would open the door for Hochstetter when he could open it for us?" Hogan said. "Of course, Hochstetter would invite himself in, anyway, but that's beside the point—"

"Enough, Hogan!" Klink said. "_If_ you find him, I will suspend a sentence in the cooler, providing he comes back quietly!"

"Thank you, Sir," said Hogan, giving a quick salute. "Oh, and thanks for letting us go; I'm sure the idea was difficult to stomach."

"Mmmmph!" Klink responded, with a shake of his fist.

Hogan waited until he and Newkirk were outside before talking again.

"Well, we've got our ticket to Paris…"

"Sir, about you telling Klink not to put Louis in the cooler… Does that mean we're going to bring 'im back with us?"

"Newkirk, I gave him my word that we could let him go to London. We're going to help him get back in touch with the Underground so he can get out of Paris safely," the colonel responded.

"Oh. Right, Sir…"

The despondency in the corporal's voice did not go unnoticed, but there was nothing the colonel could do about it.


	14. À Paris

After receiving wishes of luck from their colleagues, Hogan and Newkirk headed off for Paris late in the night, dressed in civilian clothes to avoid second glances by anyone on the street. Schultz and Langenscheidt took turns driving, and while Hogan managed to get a little bit of sleep, Newkirk went through yet another sleepless night as he stared blankly out the window, lost in another world.

They reached Paris in the afternoon, due to numerous checkpoints; Newkirk, who really had LeBeau's address in his head, gave it to the two Germans.

"That's the building," Newkirk said, pointing it out as he paid careful attention to the street signs. "Louis 'as a flat on the second floor; let's just 'ope that 'e's in."

"I don't know…" Hogan said, trailing off as Schultz got out of the car. "Schultz, you'd better wait here with Langenscheidt; you don't want anyone stealing the car."

"I have orders from Colonel Klink to keep a watch on you at all times," the big man replied, with a shrug. "Once in a while, I should listen to him, _ja_?"

"Fine," Hogan said, rolling his eyes at Klink's paranoia of an escape. If they had to, they could ditch Schultz; it wasn't even a challenge.

Newkirk led the way, having memorized the apartment number.

"This is the one, Sir," he said, pressing the doorbell. "Oi, Louis! Open up!"

There was no answer, nor was there any sound of movement inside.

"Pick the lock, Newkirk," Hogan ordered, frowning.

The Englishman bent over the lock to do so, but paused as he had a better look.

"Someone's already broken the lock," he said, pushing the door open. His eyes widened as the sight before them was a ransacked apartment. Furniture had been uprooted, cabinets and drawers had been flung open and emptied of their contents, and several sets of footprints were visible in the layer of dust on the floor.

Wordlessly, the three walked inside, looking around. Schultz placed his rifle against the wall and walked towards the kitchen. It, too, had not been spared.

"These prints are pretty recent; you can see the muddy water from the melted snow on their boots," Hogan said. "It's a safe bet that either Hochstetter or Mullenberg, if not both of them, were here."

"The Louis must be…" Newkirk trailed off, horrified.

"Don't jump to any conclusions," Hogan instructed. "LeBeau's a lot smarter than what Hochstetter's giving him credit for. Think about it. Hochstetter knows his address; this would be the first place he'd look. You think LeBeau wouldn't have figured that out? He might've used reverse psychology and stayed away from here."

"Colonel Hogan, I do not think LeBeau was ever here," Schultz declared, indicating the dusty stovetop. "He would have had cooked something; my nose tells me that nothing has been cooked here in years—_nothing_!"

"Well, I'm willing to trust Schultzie's nose," Newkirk replied. "Maybe there's a clue around 'ere that'd tell us where Louis might be 'iding."

Schultz obligingly began to go over the kitchen, picking up the recipe cards that the previous intruders had tossed to the floor.

"Hochstetter might have already thought about looking up his old girlfriends," Hogan said, picking up some love letters. "Here; take a look through these."

"Blimey; you can still smell the perfume on these… Oi, this one is actually in English!" Newkirk said, looking through the mostly-French letters. "'_My Dear Louis, it is with great fondness that I recall our picnics by the Seine_—'"

"Newkirk, get your priorities in order!" Hogan said, rolling his eyes.

"Right, Sir," Newkirk responded, but soon found another hiccup. "Sir, the envelopes are gone! Hochstetter might 'ave the girls' addresses!"

"Maybe not," said Hogan, upon discovering that his half of the stack didn't have any envelopes with them, either. "Think about it; would _you_ hang on to the letters and the envelopes? The letters are what you want; LeBeau doesn't have the room in this little apartment to store the envelopes, too, no matter how perfumed they are."

"Oi, 'ang on a minute!" Newkirk said, picking up another stack of letters. "These are from family. 'is mum lives in Paris, too; I remember the address that Louis uses to write to 'er. I'll wager she might know some places where Louis might 'ide!"

"Oh, sure; as if she would give the locations of her son's haunts to two total strangers," Hogan responded. "We have no way of proving that we're LeBeau's friends. I think we should stick with the original plan."

"What do we do, Sir?" Newkirk asked.

"There are still a couple of places we could look," Hogan went on. "There's that Russian café where we met Marya; she might have left Paris a while ago, but it could be a place where LeBeau might've stopped to rest." He glanced over at Schultz, who was still looking through the recipes. "Here's what I want you to do, Newkirk; I want you to keep Schultz busy in that café while I slip out and try to contact one of Tiger's agents."

"I'll do me best, Sir," Newkirk promised.

"I know you will," the colonel replied. "Schultz, we're leaving."

The big man sighed, placing the recipe cards back in their box. If they did find LeBeau, he would have to ask him to make some of those dishes at some point.

"We're going to stop off at that Russian café for a quick snack," Hogan said. "Care to come along?"

"_Ja_, I could do with some crackers _und_ caviar…" Schultz answered.

"You'll 'ave to pay for it with your own money; you do know that, right, Schultzie?" Newkirk asked, smirking.

"…Suddenly, I am not as hungry," Schultz said, shaking his head in dismissal. He headed for the door, wishing he could afford it.

"Oh, Schultz…" Hogan said. "You've forgotten something." He jerked his head towards the rifle that was still leaning against the wall.

Mumbling in his own tongue about the rifle not being loaded, the sergeant frantically retrieved his weapon as the American and the Englishman exchanged amused and exasperated glances.

After arriving at the café, it did not take much effort from Newkirk to keep Schultz occupied; he convinced him to have some tea as Hogan slipped out the back way. The colonel returned about twenty minutes later, looking flustered.

Newkirk made sure that Schultz was deeply engrossed in his tea before asking Hogan what had happened.

"Tiger's agent told me that they found the remaining two fliers early this morning," the colonel said. "Apparently, the 'short Frenchman' they were with led them to the Underground, but opted out of making the last leg of the journey with them. Those two are on their way to England now; we don't have to worry about those Stalag 6 boys any longer. It all comes down to LeBeau."

"He didn't go?" Newkirk repeated. "I know Louis was 'omesick, but…"

"My sentiments exactly," Hogan said. "I don't get how LeBeau could be smart enough to avoid staying at his own apartment but be stupid enough to stay in Paris."

Newkirk's eyes narrowed as an explanation came to him, but he kept it to himself. He didn't want to say anything for fear of tempting fate.

"Finding LeBeau is going to be a long shot," the colonel went on. "I have to admit that Tiger might be the only one who can do it, but…"

"You don't want her to get recaptured by Backsheider," Newkirk finished. "Sir, I know 'ow much you think of Tiger, but ol' Louis ain't going to be much better if Backsheider finds 'im."

"You think I don't know that?" Hogan retorted. "If anything, it'll be worse for LeBeau because Backsheider now knows that 'Marcel Chalet' is a fake and that LeBeau and I played him for a fool!"

"You are looking for the little Frenchman, _da_?" a new voice said. "He was here last night."

Newkirk looked up, surprised to see the café doorman, Antonovich. He had never met him personally, but Newkirk knew that he was on their side, having helped Hogan rescue Tiger from Backsheider.

"Looking for Marya, was 'e?" the Englishman asked.

"_Nyet_; he was looking for a place to stay. He said that it would not be possible for him to stay at home or in a hotel, and asked to be hidden here," the doorman answered. "If Marya was here, she would have accommodated him, so I agreed to hide him. He spent the night in the kitchen and left when I opened the café this morning. He came by for lunch; you missed him by just a few hours."

"Just our luck," Hogan responded. "I don't suppose he told you where he was going?"

"_Nyet_; he was being very secretive."

"Thanks anyway," the colonel said. "If he comes by again, tell him to stay here, and that we're looking for him. And have a few spots ready in that kitchen; Newkirk and I will be needing a place to stay tonight if we don't find him."

"_Da_, I understand."

"Schultz, come on; we're leaving," Hogan said, as he got to his feet.

"Where are we going?" the big man asked, puzzled.

"I don't really know," Hogan admitted. "Just have Langenscheidt drive us until we find somewhere that looks like a hiding place. Newkirk?"

"Sir?"

"You know LeBeau best out of anyone at Stalag 13; did he mention to you about any of his old haunts?"

"A few, Sir, but they were mainly the best places in town to take a girl you were trying to impress," the corporal said, as they headed back inside the car. "I doubt that Louis would return to any of them now."

"Then put yourself in his shoes. Where would you go?" Hogan asked.

"Well… I would stop in to see me mum, if only for a moment," Newkirk replied, thinking of his own dead mother. How fortunate LeBeau was, to still be able to send letters to his mother and father! Newkirk had never bothered sending letters to his estranged father; he had doubted that his father would even read them.

"I don't suppose it would hurt to ask; the worst she could do is close the door on us," Hogan decided, after thinking it over again. "Incidentally, what do you know about his father?"

"Divides his time between Paris and Èpernay to spend time with the missus when he ain't working," Newkirk said. "Louis doesn't like that his dad 'as to work at such an old age just to keep them going; it's one of the things that always made 'im think about going 'ome and getting 'old of all that back pay."

"You know all of that, and you still want him to come back to Stalag 13?" Hogan asked, incredulously.

"I reckon it is a bit selfish of me, Sir," Newkirk admitted. Deciding to change the subject, he gave the address of Madame LeBeau to Schultz and sat back in his seat, thinking about what would happen if they didn't find LeBeau.

Hogan might have his doubts about LeBeau's abilities to stay hidden, but Newkirk was willing to have a bit more faith. He could easily picture his friend working with Tiger in the French Underground. If that happened, there was always the possibility that his work might bring him back to Germany, where their paths could cross again. It didn't sound that bad to Newkirk, providing that LeBeau avoided capture.

On the other hand, LeBeau joining the French Underground didn't make sense. If that had been his decision instead of escaping to London, why wouldn't he tell Tiger's agent that instead of vanishing? Something didn't add up…

Newkirk was jolted out of his thoughts as Langenscheidt suddenly let out an exclamation in German, bringing the car to a sudden stop.

"This is the address, _ja_?" the German corporal asked, sounding nervous. "Is that not Major Hochstetter's staff car outside the front of the building?"

"_Ach du lieber_!" Schultz exclaimed. "Colonel Hogan, we must not stay here!"

"I've got to agree," said Hogan. "I'm sorry, Newkirk, but we can't ask her; we're going to have to search the city ourselves. Keep going, Langenscheidt."

Newkirk bit his lip, but said nothing. He knew that inside the building would be a battle of wills—one that he hoped Madame LeBeau would win.

Hochstetter, on the other hand, was certain that he would come out of this encounter successful as he stormed up the staircase. He had not found a trace of LeBeau or the fliers after a basic sweep of the city, not that he had expected to. And the search through the corporal's apartment had achieved nothing; LeBeau clearly had not used it since leaving Paris to join the French Air Force. But Hochstetter had seen the letters from LeBeau's family, friends, and girlfriends, and had known exactly what to do next.

After retrieving addresses from Backsheider's files, Hochstetter sent his men to the houses of those who had written the letters to question them, and he proceeded to arrive at the apartment of Madame Giselle LeBeau. He would question her personally.

Giselle had been all too used to the pounding on the door that heralded the arrival of an angry German. Hochstetter was just another one of many she had dealt with since the invasion.

"Ah, _ciel_!" she said, as she got up from her chair. "I am getting too old for this!"

"Frau LeBeau?" Hochstetter asked, sneering, as she opened the door. "I have some questions to ask you—"

"If you have come to ask me about my father's lost fortune, I will tell you as I have told others: I do not know where it is. Kindly leave me in peace!"

But Hochstetter invited himself inside, much to the lady's chagrin.

"I am not here to discuss trivial matters, Frau LeBeau; I am here to discuss the matter of your son, Corporal Louis LeBeau."

"What is there to say?" she asked. "You monsters shot him down near Salon and sent him to one of your cursed questioning facilities, and then to some Luft Stalag!"

"Then perhaps it will interest you to know that your son recently escaped from a Luft Stalag and is in this very city even as we speak," Hochstetter snarled. His glare was piercing as Giselle turned to him with a stunned expression. "I wish to know if he has contacted you in any way!"

"He has not," she responded, truthfully. "But if he had, why would I tell you? Prisoners of war are expected to escape, _non_? And my Louis is a mere corporal, not an officer; why would you even bother with looking for him?"

Hochstetter smirked, clearly enjoying being able to push her buttons.

"It is because I have reason to believe that this 'mere corporal' is involved with activities of sabotage and espionage in spite of his imprisonment in a Luft Stalag!"

"It is impossible," Giselle said, shaking her head. _Non, it is not. My Louis would be one to find a way to fight for France from within a prisoner-of-war camp_.

"Impossible, you say?" Hochstetter questioned. He suspected that she truly was in the dark; no spy or saboteur would take the risk of informing his near and dear ones. But, perhaps, he could tire her until she revealed some likely hiding places that the corporal would use. Even though Hochstetter still had the bottle of truth serum in his pocket, he had to admit to himself that not even he would consider using it on an elderly woman; after all, he had other plans for this serum once the corporal was recaptured.

"Answer me this, Frau LeBeau… Why, after eyewitness reports have confirmed his presence in this city since yesterday, has he not contacted you—his own mother?"

"I cannot say," she admitted. "I am sure he has good reason for doing so."

"_Ja_, he knows that my men and I would be after him because of his ties to the Underground!" Hochstetter snarled. "And mark my words, once I find the proof to convict him, the next time you will see your son will be at his funeral!"

If looks could kill, it would have been Hochstetter lying dead at Giselle's feet.

* * *

"Oh, I ruddy give up!" Newkirk exclaimed, after hours of searching yielded no sign of his friend. "Louis 'as gone and pulled a disappearing act worthy of 'oudini!"

"We've got another day of searching ahead of us tomorrow," Hogan said, but even he was beginning to rationalize—and hope—that if they couldn't find LeBeau, then Hochstetter would be no closer than they were… assuming he got nothing out of Madame LeBeau. But knowing how patriotic Louis was, his mother was sure to be no different.

"Needle in a blooming 'aystack," the Englishman insisted. "I just 'ope that 'is mum can stand the questioning that nosy parker's drilling 'er with."

He wasn't sure as to how far Hochstetter would go; as far as he was concerned, the major didn't have a shred of good in him. Newkirk didn't want LeBeau's escape to come at the price of his mother's death. The Englishman frowned, once again recalling his own mother. It wasn't as though LeBeau didn't know the feeling of losing a family member he looked up to, also; he had mentioned his dead grandfather on more than one occasion.

Newkirk's eyes widened as he recalled the conversation with Hogan earlier.

"_Put yourself in his shoes. Where would you go?"_

"_Well… I would stop in to see me mum…"_

"Langenscheidt, stop the car!" Newkirk exclaimed.

"_Was_? _Was_?" the startled German corporal asked.

"Newkirk, what are you trying to do?" Hogan asked.

"Sir, I know where Louis is," the Englishman replied. "Only, I don't know the address of the ruddy place. Let me off 'ere; I'll find someone who can give me directions."

"_Nein_, I cannot let you go alone, Newkirk," said Schultz. "And it is only a half hour until curfew; there will be very few people out and about right now."

"Schultzie, please!" the Englishman replied. "I'll come back, upon me honor! Colonel… Sir…" Newkirk turned his pleading eyes towards Hogan. "Sir, I know you don't 'ave much of a reason to trust me, but let me go just this once!"

"You couldn't just tell me your hunch?" Hogan asked.

"There's no time, Sir. I doubt you'd know the place, and one bloke running around is sure to attract less attention than two."

Hogan stared at the corporal for a long moment.

"Let him go, Schultz; I'll take full responsibility for whatever happens."

"Colonel Hogan!" the big man protested. "My orders! The curfew!"

"Oh, come on, Schultzie; if I find Louis, it means you get to eat apple strudel again!" Newkirk countered. "I'll be back 'ere before curfew, don't worry!"

"But if you're not, you do realize it means getting arrested," Hogan reminded him. "I got lucky with getting Tiger out of Backsheider's grip, but lightning doesn't strike twice."

"I know, Sir," Newkirk said, quietly. He got out of the car, running.

"Sergeant!" Langenscheidt exclaimed, gesturing to the retreating Newkirk. "Are you not going to stop him?"

Schultz let out a defeated sigh.

"Karl," he said. "If there is one thing I have learned, it is that going along with Colonel Hogan's plans usually ends in positive results."

Newkirk was already out of sight of the car by the time Schultz has started talking. The big man had been right; there didn't seem to be anyone about. He had run a couple of hundred yards before he had finally spotted someone—a woman—walking ahead. He was about to call out to her when her face became visible in the streetlight.

_Gretel__!_ his mind exclaimed.

He didn't stop to wonder how or why she was in Paris; he merely dove into the shadows until she had gone. He had his suspicions; she was either here to find LeBeau on Backsheider's orders, or she was on a mission to seduce another poor member of the Underground and pump secret information from him, too. Whichever the reason, Newkirk pitied the next man doomed to fall to her wily ways.

After the coast was clear, Newkirk continued on his way. His time was getting more and more limited, but, at last, he saw an old couple walking towards him.

"_Pardon_," he said, mustering up all the knowledge of French that LeBeau had struggled to teach him. The result, however, was a broken mix of French and English. "_Le cimetière_… I'm trying to find _le Vicomte de Chagny_. Er, 'is grave, I mean. …_Sa tombe, s'il vous plait_."

The couple willingly gave Newkirk the directions he sought. Thanking them, and then running off again, he made it to the cemetery gates in another five minutes, not surprised to see them unlocked.

The snow had accumulated on the grass and the pathway through the spacious cemetery; Newkirk noticed the set of footprints already in the snow. Again, he wasn't surprised.

The night wind caused the Englishman to shudder, though it was also partly due to the prospect of being in a cemetery after nightfall. In their younger days, he and Mavis would sometimes dare each other to enter a local cemetery in the dark. These dares often ended with both of them going in, Mavis clutching his arm as trees and branches became faces with limbs, and as stone angels seemed to gain lives of their own as the moonlight cast an unearthly glow over their faces.

There was no moon tonight; only the dim light from the nearby buildings provided the light that prevented Newkirk from losing the trail of footprints ahead of him. The Englishman found himself to be a little bit too engrossed in his task of following the prints; he had let down his guard.

A figure emerging from the darkness within a cemetery was frightening enough. Newkirk found it a hundredfold worse as the figure clapped a cold hand over his mouth and placed an even colder gun to his temple.

"_Qui êtes-vous_?"

Newkirk calmed down. His muffled voice immediately responded with words that translated to "You blooming idiot!"

He was released in an instant; neither of the two corporals looked surprised to see the other there.

"What was the point in attacking me if you knew I was coming?" Newkirk asked.

"I had to make sure," LeBeau countered. "And you took long enough; it was so near curfew that I thought it was the caretaker!"

"I took long enough? You cheeky rascal! If you 'ad just gone on to London like you were supposed to, I wouldn't 'ave 'ad to drag meself out 'ere just to find you. What's the game, Louis?"

"I knew that once you received news about the ambush, _le colonel_ would find a way to come to Paris, and I had a feeling you would, as well."

"Oh, and you didn't want us to 'ave a wasted trip?" Newkirk asked.

"_Non_; I… I had the chance to do some thinking," LeBeau replied. "I decided that I did not want to go to London after all."

"You can't stay 'ere, little mate; you know that, right?"

"_Oui_; I know."

The two exchanged glances, and Newkirk managed a wan smile. It was what he had predicted earlier, but had not wanted to say.

"There's still a bunk waiting for you at Stalag 13," he said. "Right where you left it."

LeBeau gave a nod. "It is what I had in mind."

"Good, but we've only got about fifteen minutes to get back to the Guv'nor," Newkirk replied. "Let's just 'ope we make it in time, or we'll _both_ be in 'ot water."


	15. Epilogue: Rest a Weary Soul

Both Hogan and Schultz were staring nervously at their watches, the colonel beginning to regret sending Newkirk out so late.

"Colonel Hogan, where could he have gone?" Schultz asked. If they had only known that, he could have driven the car to that location.

"I'm stumped," Hogan admitted. He had suspected that Newkirk would be the one to have deduced the corporal's hiding place, but he could only wish that he had figured it out sooner. How long would it take them to get LeBeau to a safe location?

"Sergeant, someone is coming! I think it is Newkirk!" Langenscheidt exclaimed. "_Und_ he is not alone!"

"What…!" Hogan murmured.

"He has found LeBeau!" Schultz exclaimed, seeing the shorter silhouette.

"Got room for one more in the back, Guv'nor?" Newkirk said, the cheeky grin now back on his face after going missing for weeks.

"LeBeau?" Hogan asked, staring incredulously at the Frenchman.

"Good to see you again, _Colonel_," LeBeau answered, with a wan smile, as the two corporals got into the car.

"I told you I'd find 'im, Sir," Newkirk said, checking his watch. "Ten minutes to spare, too. Get us out of here, Langenscheidt! Let's just 'ope that 'ochstetter is still too busy with…" He trailed off, glancing at LeBeau.

"_Quoi_?" the shorter man asked.

"I don't quite know 'ow to break it to you, little mate, but…"

"Last time we checked, Major Hochstetter was questioning your mother," Hogan finished. He braced himself for fireworks, and, sure enough, there were plenty.

LeBeau cursed the major three dozen times over and instructed Langenscheidt to drive to the apartment building. Utterly befuddled and tired, the German corporal turned to Schultz for guidance, who gave him a sympathetic look.

"I have a feeling that if we do not take him, he will go alone," the big man said.

LeBeau muttered something in agreement, and his mood only got worse when, upon arriving at the building, Hochstetter's car was still outside. A truck was parked behind it; it was undoubtedly a truck belonging to one of Mullenberg's guards.

"He's been at it for hours!" Hogan said, in disbelief. "And now one of the Stalag 6 guards is up there, too!"

"It will be their _last_," LeBeau vowed. He squinted, trying to look through the lit window of his mother's apartment.

"You 'ang on a minute, little mate; we didn't turn Paris upside down to lose you a second time," Newkirk said, grabbing his friend's arm.

"I've got it…" Hogan said, with a snap of his fingers. "Schultz, get up there and tell Hochstetter and the Stalag 6 guard that you've found LeBeau. You're taking him back to Stalag 13 as per Burkhalter's orders. They'll have to throw in the towel as far as LeBeau is concerned, and the fliers aren't even here anymore."

"Are you certain that is a good idea, _Colonel_?" the Frenchman asked.

"It'll give Schultz a chance to make sure that your mother is okay."

"I know, _Colonel_, but if my mother hears Schultzie say that, she will be livid!"

"In other words, Sir, the temper is 'ereditary," Newkirk said.

"We'll risk it," Hogan said. "Get going, Schultz."

"But Colonel Hogan…!" Schultz gasped. "What if she—?"

"Schultz, I'm sure you can outrun her," Hogan said, with a roll of his eyes.

The big man mumbled nervously about his weight resulting in a different outcome as he crept towards the building. Langenscheidt leaned back in his seat, exhausted; it had been a long day for him.

Hogan was about to relax when he noticed something in the Stalag 6 truck.

"Langenscheidt, I think LeBeau, Newkirk, and I will take a moment to stretch our legs before the long ride back," he said, getting out of the car. "Don't worry; we'll stay right here."

All three corporals gave Hogan a bewildered glance; Langenscheidt only made a small comment in protest as LeBeau and Newkirk dutifully followed.

"What is it, _Colonel_?" LeBeau asked, as Hogan led them slowly towards the truck.

"I thought I saw something in the truck bed," the colonel said, frowning.

"You did, Sir," said a familiar voice. Major Vulsor sat up in the truck bed with great difficulty; each of his wrists had been handcuffed by a long chain to the truck bed itself.

"Would you mind telling me what's the idea behind this brazen violation of the Geneva Convention?" Hogan asked. He glanced back at their car; Langenscheidt was watching the building, trying to see if he could see Schultz through the window.

"There was a guard in here with me," Vulsor said. "His buddy had gone up there to that apartment building a while ago; he got fed up with waiting, chained me up here, and went to get himself a drink before everything closed for curfew."

"Well, we can't have that," said Hogan, taking one more backward glance to make sure that Langenscheidt wasn't watching. "Newkirk, set him free."

"Right-o, Sir," the Englishman replied, effortlessly picking the locks on both chains.

"Thanks," the American major replied, relieved to be freed from the chains. "But how do I explain this to the guard when he comes back?"

Hogan mused for a moment.

"LeBeau, how far is the Russian café from here?"

"If you take that alley over there, only about five minutes, if you are quick."

"Then he can just make it," the colonel replied, checking his watch. "It's dark enough for no one to notice that uniform. LeBeau, do you have an extra set of civilian clothes?"

"_Oui_; this one was from one of the fliers. He left the country disguised as a German solider, so he did not need these anymore," the corporal replied, handing over one of the small bags he had been carrying.

"Perfect," Hogan said, handing the bag over to Vulsor. "Did you swear upon your word as an officer that you wouldn't escape from Mullenberg?"

"No, Sir; I did as you told me. I told Mullenberg that I knew some of Corporal LeBeau's haunts, and without letting me say another word, he had me go with his guards."

"Then congratulations; you're going to London in LeBeau's place," Hogan said. "Our friend here had a change of heart and decided to return to Stalag 13 with us."

Vulsor blinked, but nodded.

"Here's what you do; get going down that alley until you get to that Russian café; the doorman's on our side. He'll let you sleep there tonight; just tell him that the American colonel sent you. Tomorrow, make contact across the street with a man working for someone named Tiger. He'll get you to London. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. Get going."

Vulsor quickly saluted.

"If you're ever in San Francisco after the war, stop by!" he threw over his shoulder as he headed into the shadows.

"Nice sort of bloke… when e's not drawing a gun on you," Newkirk mused, as they headed nonchalantly back to the car.

LeBeau chuckled, and the three of them got inside.

"What is so funny? Have I missed a joke?" Langenscheidt asked.

"You could say that the joke's on Mullenberg," Hogan said.

"I wonder 'ow the poor sap will do in Russia," Newkirk murmured in an undertone.

"If he's sensible, he will desert and let Marya guide him to safety," the Frenchman said, thinking about the temptress again. He had sat at the table where they had first met earlier today, thinking about her eyes… her hair… her lips…

A nudge from Newkirk brought him around.

"You've got some ruddy cheek, dreaming about 'er when you're right outside your old mum's apartment; somehow I don't think Marya is the kind of girl your mum would approve of. Cor, she's not the kind of girl me own mum would've approved of, and considering she settled for me dad, that _is_ saying something…"

LeBeau just scoffed, but then grew a worried expression as he glanced at the lit window.

Schultz, who had been hovering outside Madame LeBeau's door for the past few minutes, was worried, too. He could hear a lady's voice angrily addressing Hochstetter and Mullenberg's guard, both of whom were demanding information on her son's likely hiding places.

Realizing that it was now or never, Schultz opened the door.

"_Herr Major_? I must report…" He trailed off as three angry faces turned to him.

"What is the meaning of this?" Hochstetter demanded. "I have to deal with this _dummkopf_ from Stalag 6; I am not about to deal with you, as well!"

"You do not have to, _Herr Major_; I was just leaving!" the big man insisted. "And I just came to inform you that Corporal Langenscheidt and I have recaptured Corporal LeBeau! We… We are taking him back to Stalag 13; I just thought I would let you know so that you could turn your attention to the other escapees."

"What?" Hochstetter yelled, as Giselle noticeably paled. "I have my men in all corners of this city; how could a buffoon such as yourself recapture him first?"

"I… I do not know, _Herr Major_, but he is in the car right outside this building; Langenscheidt is watching him."

"_Mon fils_!" Giselle exclaimed, running for the door.

"You will stay right where you are, Frau LeBeau," Hochstetter ordered.

"Major, I have not seen my son in years!"

"It is time for curfew," Hochstetter said, a smug expression on his face as the clock struck the hour. "And besides that, it is forbidden for civilians to have any contact with prisoners of war."

"_Bête_!" she hissed, under her breath. "_Démon_!"

She crossed to the window to get a look outside, and cursed as she found it too dark to see inside the car.

Hochstetter didn't bother with her; he had turned his attention to Schultz.

"I could order you to turn the corporal over to me," the major warned.

"I… I am following General Burkhalter's orders, _Herr Major_. I am afraid I cannot hand over the prisoner to you."

"Bah!" Hochstetter snarled. "I will be having a word with General Burkhalter. But first, I will deal with the remaining escapees. After all, I will always know where to find Corporal LeBeau."

Without even waiting for a reply, he pushed his way out of the apartment. The frustrated Stalag 6 guard, unable to have gotten a word in edgeways, soon followed, leaving behind Schultz, who was desperate to get away.

"_Es tut mir leid, gnadige Frau_," he said to Giselle.

She responded with a piercing glare.

"I cannot believe it," she said. "My son would not dodge that overdressed hound dog and let himself get captured by you."

"To be honest, I do not know how it happened," Schultz admitted. He made sure that Hochstetter and the Stalag 6 guard were well out of earshot before he admitted to Giselle that LeBeau had turned himself in.

"Then it is true," she said, quietly. "That monster said that my son is involved—"

"Please, _gnadige Frau_, I want to know nothing—_nothing_!" Schultz pleaded, knowing that Hochstetter must have put forth his accusations of LeBeau being involved in underground activities. "It is so much easier for all of us that way…"

Giselle gave a nod, understanding. This man was not like the cruel ones she had seen on multiple occasions. She turned back to the window as Schultz excused himself. The big man paused outside the door, relieved to have made it through the encounter unscathed.

Outside, in the car, LeBeau had watched, noticing as his mother's silhouette appeared at the window.

"She is fine," he realized, and he began to relax.

"Blimey, she can 'old 'er own, can't she?" Newkirk said, as a frustrated Hochstetter exited the building and went straight to his staff car.

This was followed by stifled laughs from the three Allies as the first Stalag 6 guard exited the building, staring perplexed at the empty truck bed, as was the guard who had run off for a drink. The two argued, gesturing to the empty truck and the unlocked chains. They were still going at it when Schultz finally returned.

"And Schultz survived the encounter," Hogan said. He noted that the sergeant did look slightly relieved to be out of there.

LeBeau smirked, in spite of himself. Glancing back at the silhouette in the window, he began to feel at peace. He had completed his mission, and though he was willingly leaving his family behind, he knew that he was returning to another surrogate family—one that would help his biological family return to the peace they had known before the war, if their ploys and plans kept succeeding. It was the same reason why Newkirk had come back after receiving chances to go. As paradoxical as it sounded, they could do more for their loved ones by staying in Stalag 13.

_I shall return_, _Mère_, he silently promised.

He watched the window until the car pulled away too far for him to see any longer. He sighed, leaning back into his seat.

Newkirk let out a tremendous yawn, his multiple sleepless nights catching up with him full force. He would sleep well tonight, he knew. But before he fell into the welcoming arms of slumber, he couldn't resist teasing LeBeau one more time.

"Tell me, Louis," he said, through his yawns. "Whatever 'appened to that bird you used to take on picnics by the Seine?"

"Oh, her?" the Frenchman replied, without thinking. "I still get letters from her on the odd occasion…" He trailed off. "Pierre, you have been reading my letters!"

Newkirk gave him a smirk, stifling another yawn.

"Your secrets are safe with me, little mate."

"They had better be!" LeBeau warned, pulling the Englishman's hat over his eyes.

"Ta, mate; I needed something to block those lights out!"

LeBeau let out an exaggerated scoff, hiding the fact that he was actually amused.

Hogan sighed to himself as LeBeau turned his attention out the window and as Newkirk fell asleep. It was over; as soon as they returned, Hogan would inform Tiger about how they found LeBeau. She would find it difficult to believe, most likely; Hogan certainly did.

But Newkirk had kept on believing, he realized, even when the colonel had not. It was a humbling experience to realize that he should have paid more attention to the corporal's sixth sense—more than once, at that. Being a commanding officer was not an easy task, by any means. Newkirk could have made things a lot harder than just his recent shenanigans.

Keeping this in mind, he finalized what the Englishman's punishment would be; the tunnel leading to Klink's quarters needed to be re-braced and cleaned out after receiving residual damage from when they had covered their tracks during Hochstetter's inspection. He would assign that job to Newkirk; it was close enough to the kitchen to let him talk to LeBeau if the going got too dull. It sounded fair enough.

Life at Stalag 13 would be back to normal again soon, which is more than what anyone had expected. But Hogan had to wonder to himself if that had been Newkirk's master plan all along.

"That nimrod…" he muttered, quietly.

Still… there was no denying that if it truly was the case, then Newkirk had succeeded.

They could all live with that.

* * *

_Author's Note: And, it's done! A huge thanks to everyone who supported me through this fic! I know there are a couple of loose ends, which I will now address. I can give my assurance that Vulsor makes it to London; as he was an OC, I didn't feel it necessary to show or narrate the end result of his escape. Also, I know that I had Hochstetter leave the encounter with the bottle of serum still in his pocket; that will come into play for a sequel I have planned somewhere down the line._  
_As far as the nimrod comment goes, I am still undecided when it comes to answering the "Who's Nimrod?" question, but I know that some of my readers enjoy the idea of Newkirk being Nimrod, so I added that allusion in for them. The rationale would be this: while it is true that Newkirk's actions were driven mainly by the wish to help his friend, if he was Nimrod, then his second, ulterior motive would be to ensure that status quo was restored to Stalag 13—which would require LeBeau's return. For those who don't subscribe to the idea that Newkirk is Nimrod, his actions were driven__ solely __ on the basis of friendship._


End file.
